DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
On Resigning A Scholarship Of Trinity College, Oxford, And Retiring To A Country Curacy.
by William Lisle Bowles

Farewell! a long farewell! O Poverty,
Affection's fondest dream how hast thou reft!
But though, on thy stern brow no trace is left
Of youthful joys, that on the cold heart die,
With thee a sad companionship I seek,
Content, if poor; for patient wretchedness,
Tearful, but uncomplaining of distress,
Who turns to the rude storm her faded cheek;
And Piety, who never told her wrong;
And calm Content, whose griefs no more rebel;
And Genius, warbling sweet, his saddest song,
When evening listens to some village knell,
Long banished from the world's insulting throng;
With thee, and thy unfriended children dwell.
The Sonnets LXXXVII - Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing
by William Shakespeare

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate,
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thy self thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgement making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
Farewell - To J. R. Lowell
by Oliver Wendell Holmes

Farewell, for the bark has her breast to the tide,
And the rough arms of Ocean are stretched for his bride;
The winds from the mountain stream over the bay;
One clasp of the hand, then away and away!
I see the tall mast as it rocks by the shore;
The sun is declining, I see it once more;
To-day like the blade in a thick-waving field,
To-morrow the spike on a Highlander's shield.
Alone, while the cloud pours its treacherous breath,
With the blue lips all round her whose kisses are death;
Ah, think not the breeze that is urging her sail
Has left her unaided to strive with the gale.
There are hopes that play round her, like fires on the mast,
That will light the dark hour till its danger has past;
There are prayers that will plead with the storm when it raves,
And whisper "Be still!" to the turbulent waves.
Nay, think not that Friendship has called us in vain
To join the fair ring ere we break it again;
There is strength in its circle, - you lose the bright star,
But its sisters still chain it, though shining afar.
I give you one health in the juice of the vine,
The blood of the vineyard shall mingle with mine;
Thus, thus let us drain the last dew-drops of gold,
As we empty our hearts of the blessings they hold.
April 29, 1855.
Song Of The Zetland Fisherman
by Walter Scott (Sir)

Farewell, merry maidens, to song, and to laugh,
For the brave lads of Westra are bound to the Haaf;
And we must have labour, and hunger, and pain,
Ere we dance with the maids of Dunrossness again.
For now, in our trim boats of Noroway deal,
We must dance on the waves, with the porpoise and seal
The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe not too high,
And the gull be our songstress whene'er she flits by.
Sing on, my brave bird, while we follow, like thee,
By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the swarms of the sea;
And when twenty-score fishes are straining our line,
Sing louder, brave bird, for their spoils shall be thine.
We'll sing while we bait, and we'll sing while we haul
For the deeps of the Haaf have enough for us all:
There is torsk for the gentle, and skate for the carle,
And there's wealth for bold Magnus, the son of the earl.
Huzza! my brave comrades, give way for the Haaf,
We shall sooner come back to the dance and the laugh;
For life without mirth is a lamp without oil;
Then, mirth and long life to the bold Magnus Troil!
The Winter Night.
by Friedrich Schiller

Farewell! the beauteous sun is sinking fast,
The moon lifts up her head;
Farewell! mute night o'er earth's wide round at last
Her darksome raven-wing has spread.
Across the wintry plain no echoes float,
Save, from the rock's deep womb,
The murmuring streamlet, and the screech-owl's note,
Arising from the forest's gloom.
The fish repose within the watery deeps,
The snail draws in his head;
The dog beneath the table calmly sleeps,
My wife is slumbering in her bed.
A hearty welcome to ye, brethren mine!
Friends of my life's young spring!
Perchance around a flask of Rhenish wine
Ye're gathered now, in joyous ring.
The brimming goblet's bright and purple beams
Mirror the world with joy,
And pleasure from the golden grape-juice gleams
Pleasure untainted by alloy.
Concealed behind departed years, your eyes
Find roses now alone;
And, as the summer tempest quickly flies,
Your heavy sorrows, too, are flown.
From childish sports, to e'en the doctor's hood,
The book of life ye thumb,
And reckon o'er, in light and joyous mood,
Your toils in the gymnasium;
Ye count the oaths that Terence may he ne'er,
Though buried, calmly slumber!
Caused you, despite Minelli's notes, to swear,
Count your wry faces without number.
How, when the dread examinations came,
The boy with terror shook!
How, when the rector had pronounced his name,
The sweat streamed down upon his book!
All this is now involved in mist forever,
The boy is now a man,
And Frederick, wiser grown, discloses never
What little Fritz once loved to plan.
At length a doctor one's declared to be,
A regimental one!
And then, and not too soon, discover we
That plans soap-bubbles are alone. [68]
Blow on! blow on! and let the bubbles rise,
If but this heart remain!
And if a German laurel as the prize
Of song, 'tis given me to gain!
The Seaman's Song.
by Victor-Marie Hugo

("Adieu, patrie.")
[Bk. V. ix., Aug. 1, 1852.]
Farewell the strand,
The sails expand
Above!
Farewell the land
We love!
Farewell, old home where apples swing!
Farewell, gay song-birds on the wing!
Farewell, riff-raff
Of Customs' clerks who laugh
And shout:
"Farewell!" We'll quaff
One bout
To thee, young lass, with kisses sweet!
Farewell, my dear - the ship flies fleet!
The fog shuts out the last fond peep,
As 'neath the prow the cast drops weep.
Farewell, old home, young lass, the bird!
The whistling wind alone is heard:
Farewell! Farewell!
Song. Farewell, Fair Armida.
by John Dryden

Farewell, fair Armida, my joy and my grief,
In vain I have loved you, and hope no relief;
Undone by your virtue, too strict and severe,
Your eyes gave me love, and you gave me despair;
Now call'd by my honour, I seek with content
The fate which in pity you would not prevent:
To languish in love, were to find by delay
A death that's more welcome the speediest way.
On seas and in battles, in bullets and fire,
The danger is less than in hopeless desire;
My death's-wound you give, though far off I bear
My fall from your sight--not to cost you a tear:
But if the kind flood on a wave should convey,
And under your window my body should lay,
The wound on my breast when you happen to see,
You'll say with a sigh--it was given by me.
Farewell.
by Thomas Frederick Young

Farewell! and know, where'er I roam,
My heart still turns to thee,
From spacious halls, or trackless woods,
Or on the foaming sea.
Farewell, my friend! oh, could I say,
My love, my own, to you,
My outlook on this dreary world
Would have a brighter hue.
But duty calls, and I must go,
E'en now, with outstretch'd hand,
I take a sad, sad leave of thee,
To dwell in distant land.
For thy sweet sake I'll onward toil,
In earnest, patient strife.
Content, if thou shalt know I live
An earnest, useful life.
And if, in future years thou'rt free,
And none has gain'd thy heart,
Oh, darling, wilt thou come to me,
And we shall never part.
My shatter'd life will then be sweet,
My spirit shall rejoice,
And weariness forsake my frame,
At thy dear, loving voice.
Farewell! farewell! and oh, the words
Dwell on my falt'ring tongue;
Oh, sad, despairing accents now,
That from my lips are wrung.
O, God, look down in gracious love,
And, for my pray'rs and tears,
Oh! guide and bless that gentle maid,
Through all the coming years.
And, if on earth we meet no more,
Grant, in thy boundless love,
That I till death may faithful be,
And meet with her above.
To Thaddeus.[1]
by Thomas Gent

Farewell! loved youth, for still I hold thee dear,
Though thou hast left me friendless and alone;
Still, still thy name recals the heartfelt tear,
That hastes MATILDA to her wish'd-for home.
Why leave the wretch thy perfidy hath made,
To journey cheerless through the world's wide waste?
Say, why so soon does all thy kindness fade,
And doom me, thus, affliction's cup to taste?
Ungen'rous deed! to fly the faithful maid
Who, for thy arms, abandon'd every friend;
Oh! cruel thought, that virtue, thus betray'd,
Should feel a pang that death alone can end.
Yet I'll not chide thee--And when hence you roam,
Should my sad fate one tear of pity move,
Ah! then return! this bosom's still thy home,
And all thy failings I'll repay with love.
Believe me, dear, at midnight, or at morn,
In vain exhausted nature strives to rest,
Thy absence plants my pillow with a thorn,
And bids me hope no more, on earth, for rest.
But if unkindly you refuse to hear,
And from despair thy poor MATILDA have;
Ah! don't deny one tributary tear,
To glisten sweetly o'er my early grave.
MATILDA.
A Farewell
by William Wordsworth

Farewell, thou little Nook of mountain-ground,
Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair
Of that magnificent temple which doth bound
One side of our whole vale with grandeur rare;
Sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair,
The loveliest spot that man hath ever found,
Farewell! we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care,
Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround.
Our boat is safely anchored by the shore,
And there will safely ride when we are gone;
The flowering shrubs that deck our humble door
Will prosper, though untended and alone:
Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none:
These narrow bounds contain our private store
Of things earth makes, and sun doth shine upon;
Here are they in our sight we have no more.
Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell!
For two months now in vain we shall be sought:
We leave you here in solitude to dwell
With these our latest gifts of tender thought;
Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat,
Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell!
Whom from the borders of the Lake we brought,
And placed together near our rocky Well.
We go for One to whom ye will be dear;
And she will prize this Bower, this Indian shed,
Our own contrivance, Building without peer!
A gentle Maid, whose heart is lowly bred,
Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered,
With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer,
Will come to you; to you herself will wed;
And love the blessed life that we lead here.
Dear Spot! which we have watched with tender heed,
Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown
Among the distant mountains, flower and weed,
Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own,
Making all kindness registered and known;
Thou for our sakes, though Nature's child indeed,
Fair in thyself and beautiful alone,
Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need.
And O most constant, yet most fickle Place,
Thou hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost show
To them who look not daily on thy face;
Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know,
And say'st, when we forsake thee, "Let them go!"
Thou easy-hearted Thing, with thy wild race
Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow,
And travel with the year at a soft pace.
Help us to tell Her tales of years gone by,
And this sweet spring, the best beloved and best;
Joy will be flown in its mortality;
Something must stay to tell us of the rest.
Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's breast
Glittered at evening like a starry sky;
And in this bush our sparrow built her nest,
Of which I sang one song that will not die.
O happy Garden! whose seclusion deep
Hath been so friendly to industrious hours;
And to soft slumbers, that did gently steep
Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers,
And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers;
Two burning months let summer overleap,
And, coming back with Her who will be ours,
Into thy bosom we again shall creep.
The Water Peri's Song.
by Thomas Hood

Farewell, farewell, to my mother's own daughter.
The child that she wet-nursed is lapp'd in the wave;
The Mussulman, coming to fish in this water,
Adds a tear to the flood that weeps over her grave.
This sack is her coffin, this water's her bier,
This grayish bath cloak is her funeral pall;
And, stranger, O stranger! this song that you hear
Is her epitaph, elegy, dirges, and all!
Farewell, farewell, to the child of Al Hassan,
My mother's own daughter - the last of her race - 
She's a corpse, the poor body! and lies in this basin,
And sleeps in the water that washes her face.
To The Irish Delegates
by Henry Lawson

Farewell! The gold we send shall be a token
Of that which in our hearts is growing strong;
You asked our sympathy, and we have spoken,
'They wrong us who our brothers rob and wrong.'
Tell Ireland, tell her in her desolation,
That hearts within the South for her have bled,
That scalding tears of helpless indignation
By eyes that read her cruel wrongs are shed.
Helpless no more! but strong to act hereafter,
For silenced arc the 'loyal subjects'' sneers,
Too long have Ireland's wrongs been words of laughter,
Arch-mockery to tickle British ears.
Tell Ireland that they lie of us, they slander,
Who say we care not for another's wrong;
For we are not the men to kneel and pander
To tyranny, because the tyrant's strong.
Take back across the waves Australia's message,
And say our hearts are big, and strong our hands,
Tell Ireland that for her is surest presage
Of fate as fair as of these Southern lands.
Written On Cramond Beach.
by Frances Anne Kemble (Fanny)

Farewell, old playmate! on thy sandy shore
My lingering feet will leave their print no more;
To thy loved side I never may return.
I pray thee, old companion, make due mourn
For the wild spirit who so oft has stood
Gazing in love and wonder on thy flood.
The form is now departing far away,
That half in anger oft, and half in play,
Thou hast pursued with thy white showers of foam.
Thy waters daily will besiege the home
I loved among the rocks; but there will be
No laughing cry, to hail thy victory,
Such as was wont to greet thee, when I fled,
With hurried footsteps, and averted head,
Like fallen monarch, from my venturous stand,
Chased by thy billows far along the sand.
And when at eventide thy warm waves drink
The amber clouds that in their bosom sink;
When sober twilight over thee has spread
Her purple pall, when the glad day is dead
My voice no more will mingle with the dirge
That rose in mighty moaning from thy surge,
Filling with awful harmony the air,
When thy vast soul and mine were joined in prayer.
Farewell
by John Clare

Farewell to the bushy clump close to the river
And the flags where the butter-bump hides in for ever;
Farewell to the weedy nook, hemmed in by waters;
Farewell to the miller's brook and his three bonny daughters;
Farewell to them all while in prison I lie--
In the prison a thrall sees nought but the sky.
Shut out are the green fields and birds in the bushes;
In the prison yard nothing builds, blackbirds or thrushes,
Farewell to the old mill and dash of the waters,
To the miller and, dearer still, to his three bonny daughters.
In the nook, the large burdock grows near the green willow;
In the flood, round the moorcock dashes under the billow;
To the old mill farewell, to the lock, pens, and waters,
To the miller himsel', and his three bonny daughters.
Song Of Death.
by Robert Burns

Air - "Oran an Aoig."
Scene - A field of battle. Time of the day, evening. The wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the following song:
I.
Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,
Now gay with the bright setting sun;
Farewell loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties
Our race of existence is run!
II.
Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe!
Go frighten the coward and slave;
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know,
No terrors hast thou to the brave!
III.
Thou strik'st the dull peasant, he sinks in the dark,
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name;
Thou strik'st the young hero, a glorious mark!
He falls in the blaze of his fame!
IV.
In the field of proud honour, our swords in our hands,
Our king and our country to save,
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands,
Oh! who would not die with the brave!
Farewell, Theresa! (Venetian Air.)
by Thomas Moore

Farewell, Theresa! yon cloud that over
Heaven's pale night-star gathering we see,
Will scarce from that pure orb have past ere thy lover
Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee.
Long, like that dim cloud, I've hung around thee,
Darkening thy prospects, saddening thy brow;
With gay heart, Theresa, and bright cheek I found thee;
Oh, think how changed, love, how changed art thou now!
But here I free thee: like one awaking
From fearful slumber, thou break'st the spell;
'Tis over--the moon, too, her bondage is breaking--
Past are the dark clouds; Theresa, farewell!
Parted
by Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell

Farewell to one now silenced quite,
Sent out of hearing, out of sight,--
My friend of friends, whom I shall miss.
He is not banished, though, for this,--
Nor he, nor sadness, nor delight.
Though I shall walk with him no more,
A low voice sounds upon the shore.
He must not watch my resting-place
But who shall drive a mournful face
From the sad winds about my door?
I shall not hear his voice complain,
But who shall stop the patient rain?
His tears must not disturb my heart,
But who shall change the years, and part
The world from every thought of pain?
Although my life is left so dim,
The morning crowns the mountain-rim;
Joy is not gone from summer skies,
Nor innocence from children's eyes,
And all these things are part of him.
He is not banished, for the showers
Yet wake this green warm earth of ours.
How can the summer but be sweet?
I shall not have him at my feet,
And yet my feet are on the flowers.
At Sea
by Algernon Charles Swinburne

'Farewell and adieu' was the burden prevailing
Long since in the chant of a home-faring crew;
And the heart in us echoes, with laughing or wailing,
Farewell and adieu.
Each year that we live shall we sing it anew,
With a water untravelled before us for sailing
And a water behind us that wrecks may bestrew.
The stars of the past and the beacons are paling,
The heavens and the waters are hoarier of hue:
But the heart in us chants not an all unavailing
Farewell and adieu.
Songs Set To Music: 15. Set By Mr. De Fesch
by Matthew Prior

Farewell, Amynta, we must part;
The charm has lost its power
Which held so fast my captived heart
Until this fatal hour.
Hadst thou not thus my love abused,
And used me ne'er so ill,
Thy cruelty I had excused,
And I had loved thee still.
But know, my soul disdain'd thy sway,
And scorns thy charms and thee,
To which each fluttering coxcomb may
As welcome be as me.
Think in what perfect bliss you reign'd,
How loved before thy fall,
And now, alas! how much disdain'd
By me, and scorn'd by all.
Yet thinking of each happy hour,
Which I with thee have spent,
So robs my rage of all its power,
That I almost relent.
But pride will never let me bow;
No more thy charms can move;
Yet thou art worth my pity now,
Because thou hadst my love.
After A Parting
by Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell

Farewell has long been said; I have forgone thee;
I never name thee even.
But how shall I learn virtues and yet shun thee?
For thou art so near Heaven
That heavenward meditations pause upon thee.
Thou dost beset the path to every shrine;
My trembling thoughts discern
Thy goodness in the good for which I pine;
And if I turn from but one sin, I turn
Unto a smile of thine.
How shall I thrust thee apart
Since all my growth tends to thee night and day--
To thee faith, hope, and art?
Swift are the currents setting all one way;
They draw my life, my life, out of my heart.
Parted
by Alice Christiana Gertrude Thompson Meynell

Farewell to one now silenced quite,
Sent out of hearing, out of sight,-
My friend of friends, whom I shall miss.
He is not banished, though, for this,-
Nor he, nor sadness, nor delight.
Though I shall walk with him no more,
A low voice sounds upon the shore.
He must not watch my resting-place
But who shall drive a mournful face
From the sad winds about my door?
I shall not hear his voice complain,
But who shall stop the patient rain?
His tears must not disturb my heart,
But who shall change the years, and part
The world from every thought of pain?
Although my life is left so dim,
The morning crowns the mountain-rim;
Joy is not gone from summer skies,
Nor innocence from children's eyes,
And all these things are part of him.
He is not banished, for the showers
Yet wake this green warm earth of ours.
How can the summer but be sweet?
I shall not have him at my feet,
And yet my feet are on the flowers.
On My First Son
by Ben Jonson

Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;
My sin was too much hope of thee, loved boy.
Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.
Oh, could I lose all father now! For why
Will man lament the state he should envy?
To have so soon 'scaped world's and flesh's rage,
And if no other misery, yet age!
Rest in soft peace, and asked, say, Here doth lie
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry.
For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such
As what he loves may never like too much.
Farewell To Italy.
by Frances Anne Kemble (Fanny)

Farewell awhile, beautiful Italy!
My lonely bark is launched upon the sea
That clasps thy shore, and the soft evening gale
Breathes from thy coast, and fills my parting sail.
Ere morning dawn, a colder breeze will come,
And bear me onward to my northern home;
That home, where the pale sun is not so bright,
So glorious, at his noonday's fiercest height,
As when he throws his last glance o'er the sea,
And fires the heavens, that glow farewell on thee.
Fair Italy! perchance some future day
Upon thy coast again will see me stray;
Meantime, farewell!    I sorrow, as I leave
Thy lovely shore behind me, as men grieve
When bending o'er a form, around whose charms,
Unconquered yet, Death winds his icy arms:
While leaving the last kiss on some dear cheek,
Where beauty sheds her last autumnal streak,
Life's rosy flower just mantling into bloom,
Before it fades for ever in the tomb.
So I leave thee, oh! thou art lovely still!
Despite the clouds of infamy and ill
That gather thickly round thy fading form:
Still glow thy glorious skies, as bright and warm,
Still memory lingers fondly on thy strand,
And Genius hails thee still her native land.
Land of my soul's adoption! o'er the sea,
Thy sunny shore is fading rapidly:
Fainter and fainter, from my gaze it dies,
'Till like a line of distant light it lies,
A melting boundary 'twixt earth and sky,
And now 'tis gone;--farewell, fair Italy!
To W.C. Macready
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

1851
Farewell, Macready, since to-night we part;
Full-handed thunders often have confessed
Thy power, well-used to move the public breast.
We thank thee with our voice, and from the heart.
Farewell, Macready, since this night we part,
Go, take thine honors home; rank with the best,
Garrick and statelier Kemble, and the rest
Who made a nation purer through their art.
Thine is it that our drama did not die,
Nor flicker down to brainless pantomine,
And those gilt gauds men-children swarm to see.
Farewell, Macready, moral, grave, sublime;
Our Shakespeare's bland and universal eye
Dwells pleased, through twice a hundred years, on thee.