DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
A Southern Singer.
by James Whitcomb Riley

Written In Madison Caweln's "Lyrics and Idyls."
Herein are blown from out the South
Songs blithe as those of Pan's pursed mouth - 
As sweet in voice as, in perfume,
The night-breath of magnolia-bloom.
Such sumptuous languor lures the sense - 
Such luxury of indolence - 
The eyes blur as a nymph's might blur,
With water-lilies watching her.
You waken, thrilling at the trill
Of some wild bird that seems to spill
The silence full of winey drips
Of song that Fancy sips and sips.
Betimes, in brambled lanes wherethrough
The chipmunk stripes himself from view,
You pause to lop a creamy spray
Of elder-blossoms by the way.
Or where the morning dew is yet
Gray on the topmost rail, you set
A sudden palm and, vaulting, meet
Your vaulting shadow in the wheat.
On lordly swards, of suave incline,
Entessellate with shade and shine,
You shall misdoubt your lowly birth,
Clad on as one of princely worth:
The falcon on your wrist shall ride - 
Your milk-white Arab side by side
With one of raven-black. - You fain
Would kiss the hand that holds the rein.
Nay, nay, Romancer!    Poet!    Seer!
Sing us back home - from there to here;
Grant your high grace and wit, but we
Most honor your simplicity. - 
Herein are blown from out the South
Songs blithe as those of Pan's pursed mouth - 
As sweet in voice as, in perfume,
The night-breath of magnolia-bloom.
An Old Friend
by James Whitcomb Riley

Hey, Old Midsummer! are you here again,
With all your harvest-store of olden joys, -
Vast overhanging meadow-lands of rain,
And drowsy dawns, and noons when golden grain
Nods in the sun, and lazy truant boys
Drift ever listlessly adown the day,
Too full of joy to rest, and dreams to play.
The same old Summer, with the same old smile
Beaming upon us in the same old way
We knew in childhood!    Though a weary while
Since that far time, yet memories reconcile
The heart with odorous breaths of clover hay;
And again I hear the doves, and the sun streams through
The old barn door just as it used to do.
And so it seems like welcoming a friend -
An old, OLD friend, upon his coming home
From some far country - coming home to spend
Long, loitering days with me:    And I extend
My hand in rapturous glee: - And so you've come! -
Ho, I'm so glad!    Come in and take a chair:
Well, this is just like OLD times, I declare!
Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650): John Ford
by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Hew hard the marble from the mountain's heart
Where hardest night holds fast in iron gloom
Gems brighter than an April dawn in bloom,
That his Memnoniah likeness thence may start
Revealed, whose hand with high funereal art
Carved night, and chiselled shadow: be the tomb
That speaks him famous graven with signs of doom
Intrenched inevitably in lines athwart,
As on some thunder-blasted Titan's brow
His record of rebellion. Not the day
Shall strike forth music from so stern a chord,
Touching this marble: darkness, none knows how,
And stars impenetrable of midnight, may.
So locms the likeness of thy soul, John Ford.
On The Sunny Side
by James Whitcomb Riley

Hi and whoop-hooray, boys!
Sing a song of cheer!
Here's a holiday, boys,
Lasting half a year!
Round the world, and half is
Shadow we have tried;
Now we're where the laugh is, -
On the sunny side!
Pigeons coo and mutter,
Strutting high aloof
Where the sunbeans flutter
Through the stable roof.
Hear the chickens cheep, boys,
And the hen with pride
Clucking them to sleep, boys,
On the sunny side!
Hear the clacking guinea;
Hear the cattle moo;
Hear the horses whinny,
Looking out at you!
On the hitching-block, boys,
Grandly satisfied,
See the old peacock, boys,
On the sunny side!
Robins in the peach-tree;
Bluebirds in the pear;
Blossoms over each tree
In the orchard there!
All the world's in joy, boys,
Glad and glorified
As a romping boy, boys,
On the sunny side!
Where's a heart as mellow?
Where's a soul as free?
Where is any fellow
We would rather be?
Just ourselves or none, boys,
World around and wide,
Laughing in the sun, boys,
On the sunny side!
Nursery Rhyme. DXXV. Natural History.
by Unknown

Hickety, pickety, my black hen,
She lays eggs for gentlemen;
Gentlemen come every day
To see what my black hen doth lay.
Nursery Rhyme. CLXXVII. Songs.
by Unknown

[Another version from MS. Sloane, 1489, fol. 17, written in the time of Charles I.]
Hic hoc, the carrion crow,
For I have shot something too low:
I have quite missed my mark,
And shot the poor sow to the heart;
Wife, bring treacle in a spoon,
Or else the poor sow's heart will down.
Alnaschar
by Bret Harte (Francis)

Here's yer toy balloons! All sizes!
Twenty cents for that. It rises
Jest as quick as that 'ere, Miss,
Twice as big. Ye see it is
Some more fancy. Make it square
Fifty for 'em both. That's fair.
That's the sixth I've sold since noon.
Trade's reviving. Just as soon
As this lot's worked off, I'll take
Wholesale figgers. Make or break,
That's my motto! Then I'll buy
In some first-class lottery
One half ticket, numbered right
As I dreamed about last night.
That'll fetch it. Don't tell me!
When a man's in luck, you see,
All things help him. Every chance
Hits him like an avalanche.
Here's your toy balloons, Miss. Eh?
You won't turn your face this way?
Mebbe you'll be glad some day.
With that clear ten thousand prize
This 'yer trade I'll drop, and rise
Into wholesale. No! I'll take
Stocks in Wall Street. Make or break,
That's my motto! With my luck,
Where's the chance of being stuck?
Call it sixty thousand, clear,
Made in Wall Street in one year.
Sixty thousand! Umph! Let's see!
Bond and mortgage'll do for me.
Good! That gal that passed me by
Scornful like why, mebbe I
Some day'll hold in pawn why not?
All her father's prop. She'll spot
What's my little game, and see
What I'm after's her. He! he!
He! he! When she comes to sue
Let's see! What's the thing to do?
Kick her? No! There's the perliss!
Sorter throw her off like this.
Hello! Stop! Help! Murder! Hey!
There's my whole stock got away,
Kiting on the house-tops! Lost!
All a poor man's fortin! Cost?
Twenty dollars! Eh! What's this?
Fifty cents! God bless ye, Miss!
Evening Twilight
by Charles Baudelaire

Here's the criminal's friend, delightful evening:
come like an accomplice, with a wolf's loping:
slowly the sky's vast vault hides each feature,
and restless man becomes a savage creature.
Evening, sweet evening, desired by him who can say
without his arms proving him a liar: 'Today
we've worked!' ' It refreshes, this evening hour,
those spirits that savage miseries devour,
the dedicated scholar with heavy head,
the bowed workman stumbling home to bed.
Yet now unhealthy demons rise again
clumsily, in the air, like busy men,
beat against sheds and arches in their flight.
And among the wind-tormented gas-lights
Prostitution switches on through the streets
opening her passageways like an ant-heap:
weaving her secret tunnels everywhere,
like an enemy planning a coup, she's there
burrowing into the wombs of the city's mires,
like a worm stealing from Man what it desires.
Here, there, you catch the kitchens' whistles,
the orchestras' droning, the theatres' yells,
low dives where gambling's all the pleasure,
filling with whores, and crooks, their partners,
and the thieves who show no respite or mercy,
will soon be setting to work, as they tenderly,
they too, toil at forcing safes and doorways,
to live, clothe their girls, for a few more days.
Collect yourself, my soul, at this grave hour,
and close your ears to the rising howl.
It's now that the pains of the sick increase!
Dark Night clasps them by the throat: they reach
their journey's end, the common pit's abandon:
the hospital fills with their sighs. ' Many a one,
will never return to their warm soup by the fire,
by the hearth, at evening, next to their heart's desire.
And besides the majority have never known
never having lived, the gentleness of home!
Nursery Rhyme. CCCCVII. Jingles.
by Unknown

Hey ding a ding, what shall I sing?
How many holes in a skimmer?
Four and twenty, - my stomach is empty;
Pray, mamma, give me some dinner.
Epitaphium. [Latin Version Of The Epitaph In Gray's Elegy.]
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

1.
Hic sinu fessum caput hospitali
Cespitis dormit juvenis, nec illi
Fata ridebant, popularis ille
Nescius aurae.
2.
Musa non vultu genus arroganti
Rustica natum grege despicata,
Et suum tristis puerum notavit
Sollicitudo.
3.
Indoles illi bene larga, pectus
Veritas sedem sibi vindicavit,
Et pari tantis meritis beavit
Munere coelum.
4.
Omne quad moestis habuit miserto
Corde largivit lacrimam, recepit
Omne quod coelo voluit, fidelis
Pectus amici.
5.
Longius sed tu fuge curiosus
Caeteras laudes fuge suspicari,
Caeteras culpas fuge velle tractas
Sede tremenda.
6.
Spe tremescentes recubant in illa
Sede virtutes pariterque culpae,
In sui Patris gremio, tremenda
Sede Deique.
Fears And Scruples
by Robert Browning

Here's my case. Of old I used to love him,
This same unseen friend, before I knew:
Dream there was none like him, none above him,
Wake to hope and trust my dream was true.
Loved I not his letters full of beauty?
Not his actions famous far and wide?
Absent, he would know I vowed him duty;
Present, he would find me at his side.
Pleasant fancy! for I had but letters,
Only knew of actions by hearsay:
He himself was busied with my betters;
What of that? My turn must come some day.
'Some day' proving, no day! Here's the puzzle.
Passed and passed my turn is. Why complain?
He's so busied! If I could but muzzle
People's foolish mouths that give me pain!
'Letters?' (hear them!) 'You a judge of writing?
Ask the experts! How they shake the head
O'er these characters, your friend's inditing,
Call them forgery from A to Z!
'Actions? Where's your certain proof' (they bother)
'He, of all you find so great and good,
He, he only, claims this, that, the other
Action, claimed by men, a multitude?'
I can simply wish I might refute you,
Wish my friend would, by a word, a wink,
Bid me stop that foolish mouth, you brute you!
He keeps absent, why, I cannot think.
Never mind! Though foolishness may flout me,
One thing's sure enough: 'tis neither frost,
No, nor fire, shall freeze or burn from out me
Thanks for truth, though falsehood, gained, though lost.
All my days, I'll go the softlier, sadlier,
For that dream's sake! How forget the thrill
Through and through me as I thought 'The gladlier
Lives my friend because I love him still!'
Ah, but there's a menace some one utters!
'What and if your friend at home play tricks
Peep at hide-and-seek behind the shutters?
Mean your eyes should pierce through solid bricks?
'What and if he, frowning, wake you, dreamy?
Lay on you the blame that bricks, conceal?
Say 'At least I saw who did not see me,
Does see now, and presently shall feel'?'
'Why, that makes your friend a monster!' say you:
'Had his house no window? At first nod,
Would you not have hailed him?' Hush, I pray you!
What if this friend happened to be God?
The Hereafter.
by James Whitcomb Riley

Hereafter!    O we need not waste
Our smiles or tears, whatever befall:
No happiness but holds a taste
Of something sweeter, after all; - 
No depth of agony but feels
Some fragment of abiding trust, - 
Whatever death unlocks or seals,
The mute beyond is just.
Nursery Rhyme. CCCCXXXVIII. Jingles.
by Unknown

[Our collection of nursery songs may appropriately be concluded with the Quaker's commentary on one of the greatest favourites - Hey! diddle, diddle. We have endeavoured, as far as practicable, to remove every line from the present edition that could offend the most fastidious ear; but the following annotations on a song we cannot be induced to omit, would appear to suggest that our endeavours are scarcely likely to be attended with success.]
"Hey! diddle, diddle,
The cat and the fiddle" - 
Yes, thee may say that, for that is nonsense.
"The cow jumped over the moon" - 
Oh no! Mary, thee musn't say that, for that is a falsehood; thee knows a cow could never jump over the moon; but a cow may jump under it; so thee ought to say - "The cow jumped under the moon." Yes, - 
"The cow jumped under the moon;
The little dog laughed" - 
Oh Mary, stop. How can a little dog laugh? thee knows a little dog can't laugh. Thee ought to say - "The little dog barked - to see the sport,"
"And the dish ran after the spoon" - 
Stop, Mary, stop. A dish could never run after a spoon; thee ought to know that. Thee had better say - "And the cat ran after the spoon." So, - 
"Hey! diddle, diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jump'd under the moon;
The little dog bark'd,
To see the sport,
And the cat ran after the spoon!"
The Heroes Of Our Day
by Joseph Horatio Chant

Heroic deeds in every age
Command the world's esteem;
Each finds a place in history's page,
'Midst gloom a glory beam.
And we full oft revert to this,
To show man's true descent
From Him who is the source of bliss,
Tho' now by passions rent.
But we need not consult the past;
The present bears this fruit:
The hero race will ever last;
The tree is sound at root.
And never has the world excelled
The present in this line;
Our loving Lord has not withheld
From us this trait divine.
And we should not from them withhold
The praise we feel is due
For deeds of love, and actions bold,
For spirit kind and true.
Their worth we now should recognize,
Not chant it o'er their graves;
The hero of the past we prize,
No less the man who braves
The dangers of the present hour,
The sneers which now are rife,
Not for the sake of earthly power,
Nor yet to save his life.
But for the good of fellow man,
And for his Master's sake,
He shuns no cross, and fears no ban;
'Tis these a hero make.
Hey, The Dusty Miller
by Robert Burns

Tune - "The Dusty Miller."
I.
Hey, the dusty miller,
And his dusty coat;
He will win a shilling,
Or he spend a groat.
Dusty was the coat,
Dusty was the colour,
Dusty was the kiss
That I got frae the miller.
II.
Hey, the dusty miller,
And his dusty sack;
Leeze me on the calling
Fills the dusty peck.
Fills the dusty peck,
Brings the dusty siller;
I wad gie my coatie
For the dusty miller.
Herr Weiser
by James Whitcomb Riley

Herr Weiser! Three-score-years-and-ten,
A hale white rose of his country-men,
Transplanted here in the Hoosier loam,
And blossomy as his German home -
As blossomy and as pure and sweet
As the cool green glen of his calm retreat,
Far withdrawn from the noisy town
Where trade goes clamoring up and down,
Whose fret and fever, and stress and strife,
May not trouble his tranquil life!
Breath of rest, what a balmy gust!
Quite of the city's heat and dust,
Jostling down by the winding road,
Through the orchard ways of his quaint abode.
Tether the horse, as we onward fare
Under the pear-trees trailing there,
And thumping the wood bridge at night
With lumps of ripeness and lush delight,
Till the stream, as it maunders on till dawn,
Is powdered and pelted and smiled upon.
Herr Weiser, with his wholesome face,
And the gentle blue of his eyes, and grace
Of unassuming honesty,
Be there to welcome you and me!
And what though the toil of the farm be stopped
And the tireless plans of the place be dropped,
While the prayerful master's knees are set
In beds of pansy and mignonette
And lily and aster and columbine,
Offered in love, as yours and mine?
What, but a blessing of kindly thought,
Sweet as the breath of forget-me-not!
What, but a spirit of lustrous love
White as the aster he bends above!
What, but an odorous memory
Of the dear old man, made known to me
In days demanding a help like his,
As sweet as the life of the lily is -
As sweet as the soul of a babe, bloom-wise
Born of a lily in paradise.
To Maurice Hewlett
by Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch

HEWLETT! as ship to ship
Let us the ensign dip.
There may be who despise
For dross our merchandise,
Our balladries, our bales
Of woven tales;
Yet, Hewlett, the glad gales
Favonian! And what spray
Our dolphins toss'd in play,
Full in old Triton's beard, on Iris' shimmering veils!
Scant tho' the freight of gold
Commercial in our hold,
P'stum, Eridanus
Perchance have barter'd us
'Bove chrematistic care
Epitaph XV. For One Who Would Not Be Buried In Westminster Abbey.
by Alexander Pope

Heroes and kings! your distance keep:
In peace let one poor poet sleep,
Who never flatter'd folks like you:
Let Horace blush, and Virgil too.
A Song of Love.
by Sidney Lanier

"Hey, rose, just born
Twin to a thorn;
Was't so with you, O Love and Scorn?
"Sweet eyes that smiled,
Now wet and wild;
O Eye and Tear - mother and child.
"Well: Love and Pain
Be kinsfolk twain:
Yet would, Oh would I could love again."
Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 - XXVI. - The Eclipse Of The Sun, 1820
by William Wordsworth

High on her speculative tower
Stood Science waiting for the hour
When Sol was destined to endure
'That' darkening of his radiant face
Which Superstition strove to chase,
Erewhile, with rites impure.
Afloat beneath Italian skies,
Through regions fair as Paradise
We gaily passed, till Nature wrought
A silent and unlooked-for change,
That checked the desultory range
Of joy and sprightly thought.
Where'er was dipped the toiling oar,
The waves danced round us as before,
As lightly, though of altered hue,
'Mid recent coolness, such as falls
At noontide from umbrageous walls
That screen the morning dew.
No vapour stretched its wings; no cloud
Cast far or near a murky shroud;
The sky an azure field displayed;
'Twas sunlight sheathed and gently charmed,
Of all its sparkling rays disarmed,
And as in slumber laid,
Or something night and day between,
Like moonshine, but the hue was green;
Still moonshine, without shadow, spread
On jutting rock, and curved shore,
Where gazed the peasant from his door
And on the mountain's head.
It tinged the Julian steeps it lay,
Lugano! on thy ample bay;
The solemnizing veil was drawn
O'er villas, terraces, and towers;
To Albogasio's olive bowers,
Porlezza's verdant lawn.
But Fancy with the speed of fire
Hath passed to Milan's loftiest spire,
And there alights 'mid that aerial host
Of Figures human and divine,
White as the snows of Apennine
Indurated by frost.
Awe-stricken she beholds the array
That guards the Temple night and day;
Angels she sees, that might from heaven have flown,
And Virgin-saints, who not in vain
Have striven by purity to gain
The beatific crown
Sees long-drawn files, concentric rings
Each narrowing above each; the wings,
The uplifted palms, the silent marble lips
The starry zone of sovereign height
All steeped in this portentous light!
All suffering dim eclipse!
Thus after Man had fallen (if aught
These perishable spheres have wrought
May with that issue be compared)
Throngs of celestial visages,
Darkening like water in the breeze,
A holy sadness shared.
Lo! while I speak, the labouring Sun
His glad deliverance has begun:
The cypress waves her sombre plume
More cheerily; and town and tower,
The vineyard and the olive-bower,
Their lustre re-assume!
O Ye, who guard and grace my home
While in far-distant lands we roam,
What countenance hath this Day put on for you?
While we looked round with favoured eyes,
Did sullen mists hide lake and skies
And mountains from your view?
Or was it given you to behold
Like vision, pensive though not cold,
From the smooth breast of gay Winandermere?
Saw ye the soft yet awful veil
Spread over Grasmere's lovely dale,
Helvellyn's brow severe?
I ask in vain, and know far less
If sickness, sorrow, or distress
Have spared my Dwelling to this hour;
Sad blindness! but ordained to prove
Our faith in Heaven's unfailing love
And all-controlling power.
Hide And Seek
by Walter De La Mare

Hide and seek, says the Wind,
In the shade of the woods;
Hide and seek, says the Moon,
To the hazel buds;
Hide and seek, says the Cloud,
Star on to star;
Hide and seek, says the Wave,
At the harbour bar;
Hide and seek, say I,
To myself, and step
Out of the dream of Wake
Into the dream of Sleep.
Nursery Rhyme. DXXX. Natural History.
by Unknown

Hie hie, says Anthony,
Puss in the pantry
Gnawing, gnawing
A mutton mutton-bone;
See now she tumbles it,
See now she mumbles it,
See how she tosses
The mutton mutton-bone.
Nursery Rhyme. XIX. Historical
by Unknown

High diddle ding,
Did you hear the bells ring?
The parliament soldiers are gone to the king!
Some they did laugh, some they did cry,
To see the parliament soldiers pass by.
Nursery Rhyme. CCCXXIV. Games.
by Unknown

[Children stand round, and are counted one by one, by means of this rhyme. The child upon whom the last number falls is out, for "Hide or Seek," or any other game where a victim is required. A cock and bull story of this kind is related of the historian Josephus. There are other versions of this, and one may be seen in 'Blackwood's Magazine' for August, 1821, p. 36.]
Hickory (1), Dickory (2), Dock (3),
The mouse ran up the clock (4),
The clock struck one (5),
The mouse was gone (6);
O (7), U (8), T (9), spells OUT!
Beauty
by Madison Julius Cawein

High as a star, yet lowly as a flower,
Unknown she takes her unassuming place
At Earth's proud masquerade--the appointed hour
Strikes, and, behold, the marvel of her face.
To B. R. Haydon
by William Wordsworth

High is our calling, Friend! Creative Art
(Whether the instrument of words she use,
Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues,)
Demands the service of a mind and heart,
Though sensitive, yet, in their weakest part,
Heroically fashioned, to infuse
Faith in the whispers of the lonely Muse,
While the whole world seems adverse to desert.
And, oh! when Nature sinks, as oft she may,
Through long-lived pressure of obscure distress,
Still to be strenuous for the bright reward,
And in the soul admit of no decay,
Brook no continuance of weak-mindedness
Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
Warning
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

High in the heavens I saw the moon this morning,
Albeit the sun shone bright;
Unto my soul it spoke, in voice of warning,
"Remember Night!"
Our Forefathers (January 13, 1864)
by Bj'rnstjerne Martinius Bj'rnson

(See Note 23)
High memories with power
Shine through the wintry North
On every peak's white tower,
On Kattegat so swarth.
All is so still and spacious, `
The Northern Lights flow free,
Creating bright and gracious
A day of memory.
Each deed the North defending,
Each thought for greater might,
A star-like word is sending
Down through the frosty night!
To hope they call and boldness,
And call with double cheer
To him, defying coldness,
On guard the Eider near.
No anxious shadows clouding,
No languid, lukewarm mist
Our heaven of mem'ries shrouding,
This eve of battle-tryst!
May, as of yore, while ringing
The bells unseen loud swelled,
Come leaders vict'ry bringing,
Whom th' army ne'er beheld.
Pestilence.
by Madison Julius Cawein

High on a throne of noisome ooze and heat,
'Mid rotting trees of bayou and lagoon,
Ghastly she sits beneath the skeleton moon,
A tawny horror coiling at her feet
Fever, whose eyes keep watching, serpent-like,
Until her eyes shall bid him rise and strike.
A Poem On High Church
by Jonathan Swift

High Church is undone,
As sure as a gun,
For old Peter Patch is departed;
And Eyres and Delaune,
And the rest of that spawn,
Are tacking about broken-hearted.
For strong Gill of Sarum,
That decoctum amarum,
Has prescribed a dose of cant-fail;
Which will make them resign
Their flasks of French wine,
And spice up their Nottingham ale.
It purges the spleen
Of dislike to the queen,
And has one effect that is odder;
When easement they use,
They always will chuse
The Conformity Bill for bumfodder.
High From The Earth I Heard A Bird;
by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

High from the earth I heard a bird;
He trod upon the trees
As he esteemed them trifles,
And then he spied a breeze,
And situated softly
Upon a pile of wind
Which in a perturbation
Nature had left behind.
A joyous-going fellow
I gathered from his talk,
Which both of benediction
And badinage partook,
Without apparent burden,
I learned, in leafy wood
He was the faithful father
Of a dependent brood;
And this untoward transport
His remedy for care, --
A contrast to our respites.
How different we are!