index to first lines of the penguin book of modern american verse, selected with an introduction and notes by geoffrey moore, h-m

here lies a lady of beauty and high degree

here where the wind is always north-north-east

he stroked the cats on account of a specific cause

i am riding on a limited express, one of the crack trains of the nation

i do not know much about gods

i hate my verses, every line, every word

i have fallen in love with american names

i have known the inexorable sadness of pencils

i love the locust tree

i must be mad, or very tired

i should have thought

i, too, dislike it:

like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall

my sweet old etcetera