• Deirdre Wed and Other Poems (London: Methuen 1901), vi, 105pp. [with erratum slip].
• New Poems (1907).
• Lyrics and Narrative Poems (London & NY 1911 or 1912).
• Ode from Italy in time of War (1915).
• Selected Poems (1924).

I Heard a Soldier - the words by Herbert Trench [Op. 29, No. 2](London & NY 1908)
My Own Sad Love Song - the words by Herbert Trench [Op. 29, No. 3] (London & NY 1908).
The Requital - A Song by Herbert Trench [Op. 29, No. 5] (London: n.pub. 1910).
Killary - A Poem by Herbert Trench, listed as [Op. 54, No. 2] (London & NY 1909).
Apollo and the Seaman: A Poem on Immortality by Herbert Trench; set as a dramatic symphony with choral epilogue [Op. 51; Modern Music Library] (London: Novello & Co. [1908]), 11, 197pp. and Do. (NY: H. W. Gray Co. 1908), 9, 197pp. [full score; An Illuminated Symphony, at head of t.p.]]
Requiem of Archangels for the World, a poem by Herbert Trench; chorus of mixed voices and orchestra (or organ) by Julius Harrison (London: Curwen [1920]), 43pp.

• The Collected Works of Herbert Trench, 3 vols. (London: Jonathan Cape 1924) - of which Vols 1 & 2 are Poems, with Fables in Prose, and Vol. 3. contains Napoleon: A Play [rep.] (OUP Humphrey Milford MDCCCCIXX [1919]), [4, 1-3] 4-108pp. [4].

• The Death of the Gods. Julian the Apostate (1901).
• The Romance of Leonardo da Vinci (1904).

O Sightless and rare-singing brotherhood!
It was the night of marriage. Word had sped,
Tokens gone out to every rath and ring
And every pasture on the woody knolls
Green about Eman, of the slaughter blithe
Of sheep and boar, of badger and of stag,
Reddening the ways up to the kingly house—
Of sheep and goats and of the stintless food
That should be poured out to his beggary
By Connachar, that all time should remember
The night he wed the girl from the elf-mound.
Yonside of Assaroe the swineherd found her
Bred in a peaty hillock of the west
By some old crone. Though tribeless she and wild—
Barefoot, and in the red wool chasing cattle—
Connachar saw and took, biding his time,
And let queens give her skill the winter long
In webs and brews and dyes and broideries
Up to this night of marriage.

                                           Fabulous,
O friends, and dark, and mighty, was his house,
The beam-work in its dome of forest trunks—
They that had been the chantries of the dawn
To blacken songless through a thousand years:—
But never since they sway’d buds in the glens
Or spun the silken-floating violet gleam
Had those spars groan’d above so fierce a breath
Rich with the vapour of the boar. For now
Hundreds with ruddy-glistening faces ran
Jostling round the nine shadows of the blaze
And spread with skins the lengthy beds of men
And soused warm spice of herbs in ale. Here—thither—
Was rousing of age-slumber’d horns, arranging
Smooth banks throughout the house, strawing of rushes,
And cauldrons humm’d before the empty throne
Set high in the shadow of the wall, and bubbled
Inaudible, impatient for the king.
But while outside the black roof on the mount
Outwafted was the gold divinity
On swooning wings, the Lake of Pearls far down
Curdled beneath the unseen seed of rain.
Ramparts run there that misty prisoners
Bore once in bags of slime up from the lake
For barriers of the house they most abhorr’d.

Let my lips finish what my lips began.—
Then to the two beclouded in black boughs
The third across the water cried “Speak once!
Though the earth shake beneath you like a sieve
With wheels of Connachar, answer me this:
Naois, could she understand his hate
Whose arm requiteth—far as runs the wind—
By me, that blow away the gaze and smile
From women’s faces; O could Deirdre have guess’d—
Mourning all night the fading of her kingdoms
Fled like a song—what means, _a banished man_;
That he and I must hound thee to the death;
That thou shalt never see the deep-set eaves,
The lofty thatch familiar with the doves,
On thy sad mother Usnach’s house again;
But drift out like some sea-bird, far, far, hence,
Far from the red isle of the roes and berries,
Far from sun-galleries and pleasant dúns
And swards of lovers,—branded, nationless;
That none of all thy famous friends, with thee
Wrestlers on Eman in the summer evenings,
Shall think thee noble now; and that at last
I must upheave thy heart’s tough plank to crack it—
Knowing all this, would this fool follow thee?”

Then spoke Naois, keeping back his wrath,
“Strange is it one so old should threat with Death!
Are not both thou and I, are not we all,
By Death drawn from the wickets of the womb—
Seal’d with the thumb of Death when we are born?
As for friends lost (though I believe thee not),
A man is nourish’d by his enemies
No less than by his friends. But as for her,

Because no man shall deem me noble still,—
Because I like a sea-gull of the isles
May be driven forth—branded and nationless,—
Because I shall no more, perhaps, behold
The deep-set eaves on that all-sacred house,—
Because the gather’d battle of the powers
Controlling fortune, breaks upon my head,—
Yea! for that very cause, lack’d other cause,
In love the closer,—quenchless,—absolute,
Would Deirdre choose to follow me. Such pains,
Seër, the kingdoms are of souls like hers!”
He spoke; he felt her life-blood at his side
Sprung of the West, the last of human shores,
Throbbing, “Look forth on everlastingness!
Through the coil’d waters and the ebb of light
I’ll be thy sail!”

                           Over the mist like wool
No sound; the echo-trembling tarn grew mute.
But when through matted forest with uproar
The levy of pursuers, brazen, vast,
Gush’d like a river, and torch’d chariots drew
With thunder-footed horses on, and lash’d
Up to the sedge, and at the Druid’s shape
Their steamy bellies rose over the brink
Pawing the mist, and when a terrible voice
Ask’d of that shape if druid ken saw now
The twain,—advanced out of the shade of leaves
Nor Deirdre nor Naois heard reply;
And like a burning dream the host, dissolving,
Pass’d. On the pale bank not a torch remain’d.
They look’d on one another, left alone.