It Did Not Surprise Me

It Don’T Sound So Terrible—quite—as It Did

It Dropped So Low — In My Regard —

It Dropped So Low In My Regard

It Feels A Shame To Be Alive

It Is A Beauteous Evening

It Is A Lonesome Glee

It Is a Small Plant

It Is A Spring Afternoon

It Is An Honorable Thought,

It Is Easy To Work When The Soul Is At Play

It Is Later Than You Think

It Is Needless To Ask Of A Saint

It Is No Spirit Who From Heaven Hath Flown

It Is Not A Word

It Is Not A Word”

It Is Not Always May

It Is Not Love It Is Madness

It Is Not To Be Thought Of

It Is Raining So Rough

It Is The Sinners’ Dust-Tongued Bell

It Is With Awe

It Isn’T Costly

It Knew No Lapse, Nor Diminuation

It Knew No Medicine

It Makes No Difference Abroad

It Might Be Lonelier

It Might Have Been

It Sifts From Leaden Sieves

It sounded as if the Streets were running

It stole along so stealthy

It Struck Me Every Day

It Tossed—and Tossed

It Troubled Me As Once I Was

It Was A Grave, Yet Bore No Stone

It Was A Lover And His Lass

It Was A’ For Our Rightfu’ King

It Was A’ For Our Rightful King

It Was An April Morning: Fresh And Clear

It Was Given To Me By The Gods

It Was Just A Little While Ago

It Was Not Death, For I Stood Up,

It Was Too Late For Man

It Will Be Summer—eventually

It Will Not Change

It Would Have Starved A Gnat

It Would Never Be Common—more—i Said

It’s A Boy

It’s All I Have To Bring Today

It’s Coming—the Postponeless Creature

It’s Dark In Here

It’s Easy To Invent A Life

It’s Forth Across The Roaring Foam

It’s Good To Feel You Are Close To Me

It’s Grand