DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
Written In The Highlands Of Scotland, September 1, 1812.
by Samuel Rogers

Blue was the loch, [1] the clouds were gone,
Ben-Lomond in his glory shone,
When, Luss, I left thee; when the breeze
Bore me from thy silver sands,
Thy kirk-yard wall among the trees,
Where, grey with age, the dial stands;
That dial so well-known to me!
--Tho' many a shadow it had shed,
Beloved Sister, since with thee
The legend on the stone was read.
The fairy-isles fled far away;
That with its woods and uplands green,
Where shepherd-huts are dimly seen,
And songs are heard at close of day;
That too, the deer's wild covert, fled,
And that, the Asylum of the Dead:
While, as the boat went merrily,
Much of ROB ROY [2] the boat-man told;
His arm that fell below his knee,
His cattle-ford and mountain-hold.
Tarbet, [3] thy shore I climb'd at last,
And, thy shady region pass'd,
Upon another shore I stood,
And look'd upon another flood; [4]
Great Ocean's self! ('Tis He, who fills
That vast and awful depth of hills;)
Where many an elf was playing round,
Who treads unshod his classic ground;
And speaks, his native rocks among,
As FINGAL spoke, and OSSIAN sung.
Night fell; and dark and darker grew
That narrow sea, that narrow sky,
As o'er the glimmering waves we flew.
The sea-bird rustling, wailing by.
And now the grampus, half descried,
Black and huge above the tide;
The cliffs and promontories there,
Front to front, and broad and bare,
Each beyond each, with giant-feet
Advancing as in haste to meet;
The shatter'd fortress, whence the Dane
Blew his shrill blast, nor rush'd in vain,
Tyrant of the drear domain;
All into midnight-shadow sweep--
When day springs upward from the deep! [5]
Kindling the waters in its flight,
The prow wakes splendour; and the oar,
That rose and fell unseen before,
Flashes in a sea of light!
Glad sign, and sure! for now we hail
Thy flowers, Glenfinart, in the gale;
And bright indeed the path should be,
That leads to Friendship and to Thee!
Oh blest retreat, and sacred too!
Sacred as when the bell of prayer
Toll'd duly on the desert air,
And crosses deck'd thy summits blue.
Oft, like some lov'd romantic tale,
Oft shall my weary mind recall,
Amid the hum and stir of men,
Thy beechen grove and waterfall,
Thy ferry with its gliding sail,
And Her--the Lady of the Glen!
Paul
by William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham)

Bond-slave to Christ, and in my bonds rejoicing,
Earmarked to Him I counted less than nought;
His man henceforward, eager to be voicing
That wondrous Love which Saul the Roman sought.
Sought him and found him, working bitter sorrow;
Found him and claimed him, chose him for his own;
Bound him in darkness, till the glorious morrow
Unsealed his eyes to that he had not known.
Coyote
by Bret Harte (Francis)

Blown out of the prairie in twilight and dew,
Half bold and half timid, yet lazy all through;
Loath ever to leave, and yet fearful to stay,
He limps in the clearing, an outcast in gray.
A shade on the stubble, a ghost by the wall,
Now leaping, now limping, now risking a fall,
Lop-eared and large-jointed, but ever alway
A thoroughly vagabond outcast in gray.
Here, Carlo, old fellow, he's one of your kind,
Go, seek him, and bring him in out of the wind.
What! snarling, my Carlo! So even dogs may
Deny their own kin in the outcast in gray.
Well, take what you will, though it be on the sly,
Marauding or begging, I shall not ask why,
But will call it a dole, just to help on his way
A four-footed friar in orders of gray!
Upon Blisse.
by Robert Herrick

Blisse, last night drunk, did kiss his mother's knee;
Where will he kiss, next drunk, conjecture ye.
Thaw
by Lola Ridge

Blow through me wind
As you blow through apple blossoms....
Scatter me in shining petals over the passers-by....
Joyously I reunite... sway and gather to myself....
Sedately I walk by the dancing feet of children - 
Not knowing I too dance over the cobbled spring.
O, but they laugh back at me,
(Eyes like daisies smiling wide open),
And we both look askance at the snowed-in people
Thinking me one of them.
Black Eyes And Blue.
by Thomas Gent

Blue eyes and jet
Fell out one morn,
Azure cried in a pet,
"Away, dark scorn!--
"We are brilliant and blue
"As the waves of the sea--
"And as cold and untrue
"And as changeable ye.
"We are born of the sky,
"Of a summer night,
"When the first stars lie
"In a bed of blue light;
"From the cloudy zone
"Round the setting sun,
"Like an angel's throne,
"Are our glories won."
"Pretty ladies, hold,"
Cupid said to the eyes--
For beauties that scold
"Are seldom wise;
"'Tis not colour I seek
"Love's fires to impart--
"Give me eyes that can speak
"From the depths of the heart."
Fodder For Cannon
by Katharine Lee Bates

Bodies glad, erect,
Beautiful with youth,
Life's elect,
Nature's truth,
Marching host on host,
Those bright, unblemished ones,
Manhood's boast,
Feed them to the guns.
Hearts and brains that teem
With blessing for the race,
Thought and dream,
Vision, grace,
Oh, love's best and most,
Bridegrooms, brothers, sons,
Host on host
Feed them to the guns.
Anacreontic
by Robert Herrick

Born I was to be old,
And for to die here;
After that, in the mould
Long for to lie here.
But before that day comes,
Still I be bousing;
For I know, in the tombs
There's no carousing.
The War-Song Of Gamelbar.
by Bliss Carman (William)

Bowmen, shout for Gamelbar!
Winds, unthrottle the wolves of war!
Heave a breath
And dare a death
For the doom of Gamelbar!
Wealth for Gamel,
Wine for Gamel,
Crimson wine for Gamelbar!
CHORUS:--Oh, sleep for a knave,
With his sins in the sod!
And death for the brave,
With his glory up to God!
And joy for the girl,
And ease for the churl!
But the great game of war
For our lord Gamelbar,
Gamelbar!
Spearmen, shout for Gamelbar,
With his Saxon thirty score!
Heave a sword
For our overlord,
Lord of warriors, Gamelbar!
Life for Gamel,
Love for Gamel,
Lady-loves for Gamelbar!
Horsemen, shout for Gamelbar!
Swim the ford and climb the scaur!
Heave a hand
For the maiden land,
The maiden land of Gamelbar!
Glory for Gamel,
Gold for Gamel,
Yellow gold for Gamelbar!
Armorers for Gamelbar,
Rivet and forge and fear no scar!
Heave a hammer
With anvil clamor,
To weld and brace for Gamelbar!
Ring for Gamel!
Rung for Gamel!
_Ring-rung-ring_ for Gamelbar!
Yeomen, shout for Gamelbar,
And his battle-hand in war!
Heave his pennon;
Cheer his men on,
In the ranks of Gamelbar!
Strength for Gamel,
Song for Gamel,
One war-song for Gamelbar!
Roncliffe, shout for Gamelbar!
Menthorpe, Bryan, Castelfar!
Heave, Thorparch
Of the Waving Larch,
And Spofford's thane, for Gamelbar!
Blaise for Gamel,
Brame for Gamel,
Rougharlington for Gamelbar!
Maidens; strew for Gamelbar
Roses down his way to war!
Heave a handful,
Fill the land full
Of your gifts to Gamelbar!
Dream of Gamel,
Dance for Gamel,
Dance in the halls for Gamelbar!
Servitors, shout for Gamelbar!
Roast the ox and stick the boar!
Heave a bone
To gaunt Harone,
The great war-hound of Gamelbar!
Mead for Gamel,
Mirth for Gamel,
Mirth at the board for Gamelbar!
Trumpets, speak for Gamelbar!
Blare as ye never blared before!
Heave a bray
In the horns to-day,
The red war-horns of Gamelbar!
To-night for Gamel,
The North for Gamel,
With fires on the hills for Gamelbar!
Shout for Gamel, Gamelbar,
Till your throats can shout no more!
Heave a cry
As he rideth by,
Sons of Orm, for Gamelbar!
Folk for Gamel,
Fame for Gamel,
Years and fame for Gamelbar!
CHORUS:--Oh, sleep for a knave
With his sins in the sod!
And death for the brave,
With his glory up to God!
And joy for the girl,
And ease for the churl!
But the great game of war
For our lord Gamelbar,
Gamelbar!
Nursery Rhyme. DLV. Natural History.
by Unknown

Bow, wow, wow,
Whose dog art thou?
Little Tom Tinker's dog,
Bow, wow, wow.
Ower The Hedge
by George MacDonald

I.
"Bonny lassie, rosy lassie,
Ken ye what is care?
Had ye ever a thought, lassie,
Made yer hertie sair?"
Johnnie said it, Johnnie seekin
Sicht o' Mally's face,
Keekin i' the hedge o' holly
For a thinner place.
"Na," said Mally, pawky smilin,
"Nought o' care ken I;
Gien I meet the gruesome carline,
I s' hand weel ootby!"
"Lang be licht o' hert, Mally,
As o' fut and ban'!
Lang be ready wi' sic answer
To ony speirin man!"
"Ay, the men 'll aye be speirin!
Troth, it's naething new!
There's yersel wi' queston, queston--
And there's mair like you!"
"Deed ye wadna mock me, Mally,
Wi' yer lauchin ee,
Gien ye saw the thing aye muvin
I' the hert o' me!"
"Troth, I'm no sae pryin, laddie,
Yon's no my concern!
Jist as sune I wud gang speirin
What's intil yon cairn!"
"Still and on, there's ae thing, Mally,
Yont yer help, my doo--
That's to haud my hert frae lo'in
At the hert o' you!"
II.
Johnnie turned and left her,
Listit for the war;
In a year cam limpin
Hame wi' mony a scar.
Wha was that was sittin
On the brae, sae still?
Worn and wan and altert,
Could it be hersel?
Cled in black, her eelids
Reid wi' greitin sair--
Was she wife and widow
In a towmond bare?
Mally's hert played wallop,
Kenned him or he spak:
"Are ye no deid, Johnnie?
Is't yersel come back?"
"Are ye wife or widow?
Tell me in a breath;
Lanely life is fearsome,
Waur nor ony death!"
"Wha cud be a widow
Wife was never nane?
Noo, gien ye will hae me,
Noo I will be ane!"
Crutch awa he flang it,
Clean forgot his hairms,
Cudna stan' withoot it,
Fell in Mally's airms.
To th' Swallow
by John Hartley

Bonny burd! aw'm fain to see thee,
For tha tells ov breeter weather;
But aw connot quite forgi thee,
Connot love thee altogether.
'Tisn't thee aw fondly welcome - 
'Tis the cheerin news tha brings,
Tellin us fine weather will come,
When we see thi dappled wings.
But aw'd rayther have a sparrow,
Rayther hear a robin twitter;
Tho' they may net be thi marrow,
May net fly wi' sich a glitter;
But they niver leeav us, niver - 
Storms may come, but still they stay;
But th' first wind 'at ma's thee shiver,
Up tha mounts an' flies away.
Ther's too mony like thee, swallow,
'At when fortun's sun shines breet,
Like a silly buzzard follow,
Doncin raand a bit o' leet.
But ther's few like Robin redbreast,
Cling throo days o' gloom an' care;
Soa aw love mi old tried friends best - 
Fickle hearts aw'll freely spare.
Chorus Of Hours.
by Susanna Moodie

Born with the sun, the fair daughters of time,
We silently lead to a lovelier clime,
Where the day is undimmed by the shadows of night,
But eternally beams from the fountain of light;
Where the sorrows of time and its cares are unknown
To the beautiful forms that encircle the throne
Of the mighty Creator! the First and the Last!
Who the wonderful frame of the universe cast,
And composed every link of the mystical chain
Of minutes, and hours, which are numbered in vain
By the children of dust, in their frantic career,
When their moments are wasted unthinkingly here,
Lavished on earth which in mercy were given
That men might prepare for the joys of heaven!--
To The Yew And Cypress To Grace His Funeral.
by Robert Herrick

Both you two have
Relation to the grave:
And where
The funeral-trump sounds, you are there,
I shall be made,
Ere long, a fleeting shade:
Pray, come
And do some honour to my tomb.
Do not deny
My last request; for I
Will be
Thankful to you, or friends, for me.
Nahant
by Sara Teasdale

Bowed as an elm under the weight of its beauty,
So earth is bowed, under her weight of splendor,
Molten sea, richness of leaves and the burnished
Bronze of sea-grasses.
Clefts in the cliff shelter the purple sand-peas
And chicory flowers bluer than the ocean
Flinging its foam high, white fire in sunshine,
Jewels of water.
Joyous thunder of blown waves on the ledges,
Make me forget war and the dark war-sorrow
Against the sky a sentry paces the sea-cliff
Slim in his khaki.
The Book Of Joyous Children
by James Whitcomb Riley

Bound and bordered in leaf-green,
Edged with trellised buds and flowers
And glad Summer-gold, with clean
White and purple morning-glories
Such as suit the songs and stories
Of this book of ours,
Unrevised in text or scene, - 
The Book of Joyous Children.
Wild and breathless in their glee - 
Lawless rangers of all ways
Winding through lush greenery
Of Elysian vales - the viny,
Bowery groves of shady, shiny
Haunts of childish days.
Spread and read again with me
The Book of Joyous Children.
What a whir of wings, and what
Sudden drench of dews upon
The young brows, wreathed, all unsought,
With the apple-blossom garlands
Of the poets of those far lands
Whence all dreams are drawn
Set herein and soiling not
The Book of Joyous Children.
In their blithe companionship
Taste again, these pages through,
The hot honey on your lip
Of the sun-smit wild strawberry,
Or the chill tart of the cherry;
Kneel, all glowing, to
The cool spring, and with it sip
The Book of Joyous Children.
As their laughter needs no rule,
So accept their language, pray. - 
Touch it not with any tool:
Surely we may understand it, - 
As the heart has parsed or scanned it
Is a worthy way,
Though found not in any School
The Book of Joyous Children.
Be a truant - know no place
Of prison under heaven's rim!
Front the Father's smiling face - 
Smiling, that you smile the brighter
For the heavy hearts made lighter,
Since you smile with Him.
Take - and thank Him for His grace - 
The Book of Joyous Children.
Bonnie Lassie, Will Ye Go.
by Robert Burns

Tune - "The birks of Aberfeldy."
Chorus.
Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go;
Bonnie lassie, will ye go
To the birks of Aberfeldy?
I.
Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays;
Come let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
II.
The little birdies blithely sing,
While o'er their heads the hazels hing,
Or lightly flit on wanton wing
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
III.
The braes ascend, like lofty wa's,
The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's,
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The birks of Aberfeldy.
IV.
The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And rising, weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.
V.
Let Fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go;
Bonnie lassie, will ye go
To the birks of Aberfeldy?
Nature
by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Boon Nature yields each day a brag which we now first behold,
And trains us on to slight the new, as if it were the old:
But blest is he, who, playing deep, yet haply asks not why,
Too busied with the crowded hour to fear to live or die.
Poem
by Aldous Leonard Huxley

Books and a coloured skein of thoughts were mine;
And magic words lay ripening in my soul
Till their much-whispered music turned a wine
Whose subtlest power was all in my control.
These things were mine, and they were real for me
As lips and darling eyes and a warm breast:
For I could love a phrase, a melody,
Like a fair woman, worshipped and possessed.
I scorned all fire that outward of the eyes
Could kindle passion; scorned, yet was afraid;
Feared, and yet envied those more deeply wise
Who saw the bright earth beckon and obeyed.
But a time came when, turning full of hate
And weariness from my remembered themes,
I wished my poet's pipe could modulate
Beauty more palpable than words and dreams.
All loveliness with which an act informs
The dim uncertain chaos of desire
Is mine to-day; it touches me, it warms
Body and spirit with its outward fire.
I am mine no more: I have become a part
Of that great earth that draws a breath and stirs
To meet the spring. But I could wish my heart
Were still a winter of frosty gossamers.
The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Proem.
by Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Io che nacqui dal Senno.
Born of God's Wisdom and Philosophy,
Keen lover of true beauty and true good,
I call the vain self-traitorous multitude
Back to my mother's milk; for it is she,
Faithful to God her spouse, who nourished me,
Making me quick and active to intrude
Within the inmost veil, where I have viewed
And handled all things in eternity.
If the whole world's our home where we may run,
Up, friends, forsake those secondary schools
Which give grains, units, inches for the whole!
If facts surpass mere words, melt pride of soul,
And pain, and ignorance that hardens fools,
Here in the fire I've stolen from the Sun!
Nursery Rhyme. LXXXVIII. Proverbs.
by Unknown

Bounce Buckram, velvet's dear;
Christmas comes but once a year.
Bouquet and Bracelet
by Victor James Daley

Bouquet said: 'My floral ring
The homage of a heart encloses,
Whose thoughts to you go worshipping
In perfume from my blushing roses.'
Bracelet said: 'My rubies red,
Though hard the gleam that each exposes,
Will last when flowers of Spring are fled
And dead are all the Summer roses.'
Beauty mused awhile, and said,
'Here's poesy!' and sighed, 'Here prose is
Bouquet! I choose the rubies red!
In Winter they will buy me roses.'
On Seeing A Hair Of Lucretia Borgia
by Walter Savage Landor

Borgia, thou once wert almost too august
And high for adoration; now thou'rt dust.
All that remains of thee these plaits unfold,
Calm hair, meandering in pellucid gold.
Let Us Pray
by Pamela S. Vining, (J. C. Yule)

[note: A precious memory is associated with these words. The voice that uttered them is silent now but the solemnity of their utterance has not passed away. The [below] is a feeble attempt to give it something like permanency.]
Bow the head in supplication,
Lowly, penitent, sincere,
Worthiest of adoration,
God, the Holy One is here! - 
Here, while through the open casement
Gently beams the rising day,
While, in contrite self abasement,
Rev'rently we kneel and pray!
Let us pray! - we're weak and weary,
Faint of heart and slow of limb,
Over mountains dark and dreary
Lies our pathway - narrow, dim,
Thorn beset and demon-haunted,
Steep and slipp'ry is the way,
Would we tread it all undaunted,
Firm of footstep? - let us pray!
Let us pray! - on every spirit,
Secret, solemn records lie,
Of transgression and demerit,
On'y seen by God's pure eye, - 
Secret sins, desires unholy,
Thoughts impure that once held sway, - 
Oh, in penitence most lowly,
Deeply contrite, let us pray!
Let us pray! - we need forgiveness, - 
Strength and patience to endure, - 
For our arduous labors fitness, - 
Spirits consecrate and pure,
Shelter need when storms are round us, - 
Bread of Heavenly life each day, - 
Help when hidden snares surround us, - 
Guidance always - let us pray!
A Mood.
by Madison Julius Cawein

Bowed hearts that hold the saddest memories
Are the most beautiful; and such make sweet
Light happy moods of alien natures which
Their sadness contacts, and so sanctifies.
And such to me is an old, gabled house,
Deserted and neglected and unknown
Within the dreamy hollow of its hills,
Dark, cedared hills and fruitless orchards sear;
With but its host of shrouded memories
Haunting its low and desolate rooms and halls,
Its roomy hearths and cob-webbed crevices.
Here in dim rainy noons I love to sit,
And hear the running rain along the roof,
The creak and crack of noises that are born
Of unseen and mysterious agencies;
The dripping footfalls of the wind adown
Lone winding stairways massy-banistered;
A clapping door and then a sudden hush
That brings a pleasant terror stiffening through
The tingling veins and staring from the eyes.
Then comes the running rain along the roof's
Rain-rotten gables and on rain-stained walls
Invokes vague images and memories
Of all its sometime lords and mistresses,
Until the stale material will assume
All that's clairvoyant, and the fine-strung ear
In quaint far rooms or dusty corridors
Hear wrinkled ladies all beruffled trail
Long haughty silks "miraculously stiff."
On Himself.
by Robert Herrick

Born I was to meet with age,
And to walk life's pilgrimage.
Much I know of time is spent,
Tell I can't what's resident.
Howsoever, cares, adieu!
I'll have nought to say to you:
But I'll spend my coming hours
Drinking wine and crown'd with flowers.
The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Sage On Earth.
by Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Sciolto e legato.
Bound and yet free, companioned and alone,
Loud mid my silence, I confound my foes:
Men think me fool in this vile world of woes;
God's wisdom greets me sage from heaven's high throne.
With wings on earth oppressed aloft I bound;
My gleeful soul sad bonds of flesh enclose:
And though sometimes too great the burden grows,
These pinions bear me upward from the ground.
A doubtful combat proves the warrior's might:
Short is all time matched with eternity:
Nought than a pleasing burden is more light.
My brows I bind with my love's effigy,
Sure that my joyous flight will soon be sped
Where without speech my thoughts shall all be read.
In Memoriam. - Wentworth Alexander,
by Lydia Howard Sigourney

Son of Dr. WILLIAM and Mrs. MARY WENTWORTH ALEXANDER, died at Fayette, Iowa, May, 1861, aged 2 years.
Coming in from play, he laid his head on his mother's bosom, and said "Mama, take your boy,--boy tired," and never looked up healthfully again.
Boy tired! the drooping infant said,
And meekly laid his noble head,
Down on that shielding breast,
Which mid all change of grief, or wo,
Had been his Paradise below,
His comforter and rest.
Boy tired! Alas for nursing Love,
That sleepless toiled and watched and strove,
For dire disease portends.
Alas for Science and its skill
Opposed to his unpitying will
This mortal span that rends.
Boy tired! So thou hast past away,
From heat and burden of the day,
From snares that manhood knows,--
From want and wo and deadly strife,
From wrong, and weariness of life,
Hast found serene repose.
Boy tired! Those words of parting pain
Thou never more wilt breathe again,
Nor lift the moaning cry,
For naught to wound or vex, or cloy,
Invades the cherub home of joy,
No shade obscures the sky.
O, mother! When above ye meet,
When all these years, so few and fleet,
Fade like a mist away,
This sorrow that thy soul hath bowed,
Shall seem but as an April cloud,
Before the noon-tide ray.
In Memoriam. - The Brothers,
by Lydia Howard Sigourney

Mr. FISHER AMES BUELL, died at Hartford, May 19th, 1861, aged 25, and Mr. HENRY R. BUELL, on his voyage to Europe, June 20th, 1862, aged 30, the only children of Mr. ROBERT and Mrs. LAURA BUELL.
Both gone. Both smitten in their manly prime,
Yet the fair transcript of their virtues here,
And treasured memories of their boyhood's time
Allay the anguish of affection's tear.
One hath his rest amid the sacred shade
Whose turf reveals the mourner's frequent tread,
And one beneath the unfathomed deep is laid
To slumber till the sea restores her dead.
The childless parents weep their broken trust,
Hope's fountain failing at its cherish'd springs,
And widow'd sorrow shrouds herself in dust,
While one lone flowret to her bosom clings.
Yet no blind chance this saddening change hath wrought,
No dark misrule this mortal life attends,
A Heavenly Father's never-erring thought
Commingles with the discipline He sends.
Not for His reasons let us dare to ask,
His secret counsels not aspire to read,
But faithful bow to each allotted task
And make His will our solace and our creed.
The Chain Gang
by John Le Gay Brereton

Borne in the car along a crowded way,
Sun-soaked, I saw the world like shadows glide,
Or phantom boats, upon a running tide,
Driven through flying fog at break of day.
'The chain gang? Yes,' I heard a woman say,
'Here in this very street.' I glanced aside
And saw the fetters that she flashed in pride,
And turned again to watch the world's array.
Clearly I saw men scurrying on the hour,
Young girls who weary all day on dainty feet,
Dandies whose socks betoken infinite pains,
The life that springs and withers like a flower:
I heard the gangs go clanking down the street,
Intolerably patient of their chains.