DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
The Rambo-Tree
by James Whitcomb Riley

When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree - 
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard! - 
The bird sings low as the bumble-bee - 
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard! - 
The poor shote-pig he says, says he:
"When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree
There's enough for you and enough for me." - 
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard.
For just two truant lads like we,
When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree
There's enough for you and enough for me - 
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard.
When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree - 
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard! - 
The mole digs out to peep and see - 
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard! - 
The dusk sags down, and the moon swings free,
There's a far, lorn call, "Pig-gee! 'Pig-gee!"
And two boys - glad enough for three. - 
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard.
For just two truant lads like we,
When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree
There's enough for you and enough for me - 
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard.
A Request.
by Alfred Castner King

When close by my bed the Death Angel shall stand
And deliver his summons, at last;
When my brow feels the chill of his cold, clammy hand,
And mortality's struggles are past;
When my pain throbbing temples, with death sweat are cold,
And the spirit its strivings shall cease,
As with muscular shrug, it relaxes its hold,
And the suffering clay is at peace;
E'er my spirit shall plunge through the shadowy vale,
My lips shall this wish have expressed,
That all which remains of mortality frail,
In some fair enclosure may rest;
Where disorganized, this pale form shall sustain
The fragrant and beautiful flowers,
And reproduce beauty, again and again,
Through nature's grand organic powers.
Mary Hanner's Peanner.
by John Hartley

When aw cooarted Mary Hanner,
Aw wor young an varry shy;
An shoo used to play th' peanner
Wol aw sheepishly sat by.
Aw lang'd to tell her summat,
But aw railly hadn't th' pluck,
Tho' monny a time aw started,
Yet, somha aw allus stuck.
Aw'm sewer shoo must ha guess'd it,
But shoo nivver gave a sign;
Shoo drummed at that peanner; - 
A'a! aw wish it had been mine!
Aw'd ha chopt it into matchwood, - 
Aw'd ha punced it into th' street,
It wor awful aggravatin,
For shoo thumpt it ivvery neet.
Aw'd getten ommost sickened,
When one day another chap
Aw saw thear, an he'd getten
Mary Hanner on his lap.
Aw didn't stop to argyfy, - 
But fell'd him like an ox;
An Mary Hanner tried to fly
On top o'th' music box.
But he wor gam, - an sich a job
Aw'd nivver had befor,
We fowt, but aw proved maister,
An aw punced him aght o'th' door.
Then like a Tigercat, at me
Flew ragin Mary Hammer; - 
Yo bet! shoo could thump summat else,
Besides her loud peanner!
Aw had to stand an tak her blows,
Until shoo'd geeten winded;
"Tha scamp!" shoo says, "tha little knows
What bargainin tha's hindered!
Awr Jack had nobbut coom to pay,
Becoss he's bowt th' peanner,
An nah tha's driven him away!"
"Forgie me, Mary Hanner."
Aw ran aghtside an sooin fan Jack,
An humbly begged his parden; - 
"All reight," - he sed, "aw'm commin back,"
He didn't care a farden.
He paid her th' brass, then fetched a cart,
An hauled away th' peanner; - 
We're wed sin then, an nowt shall part,
Me an mi Mary Hanner.
The Winds
by William Lisle Bowles

When dark November bade the leaves adieu,
And the gale sung amid the sea-boy's shrouds,
Methought I saw four winged forms, that flew,
With garments streaming light, amid the clouds;
From adverse regions of the sky,
In dim succession, they went by.
The first, as o'er the billowy deep he passed,
Blew from its brazen trump a far-resounding blast.
Upon a beaked promontory high,
With streaming heart, and cloudy brow severe,
Marked ye the father of the frowning year!
Dark vapours rolled o'er the tempestuous sky,
When creeping WINTER from his cave came forth;
Stern courier of the storm, he cried, what from the north?
The Rose's Secret
by Madison Julius Cawein

When down the west the new moon slipped,
A curved canoe that dipped and tipped,
When from the rose the dewdrop dripped,
As if it shed its heart's blood slow;
As softly silent as a star
I climbed a lattice that I know,
A window lattice, held ajar
By one slim hand as white as snow:
The hand of her who set me here,
A rose, to bloom from year to year.
I, who have heard the bird of June
Sing all night long beneath the moon;
I, who have heard the zephyr croon
Soft music 'mid spring's avenues,
Heard then a sweeter sound than these,
Among the shadows and the dews
A heart that beat like any bee's,
Sweet with a name and I know whose:
Her heart that, leaning, pressed on me,
A rose, she never looked to see.
O star and moon! O wind and bird!
Ye hearkened, too, but never heard
The secret sweet, the whispered word
I heard, when by her lips his name
Was murmured. Then she saw me there!
But that I heard was I to blame?
Whom in the darkness of her hair
She thrust since I had heard the same:
Condemned within its deeps to lie,
A rose, imprisoned till I die.
Alarm Clocks
by Alfred Joyce Kilmer (Joyce)

When Dawn strides out to wake a dewy farm
Across green fields and yellow hills of hay
The little twittering birds laugh in his way
And poise triumphant on his shining arm.
He bears a sword of flame but not to harm
The wakened life that feels his quickening sway
And barnyard voices shrilling "It is day!"
Take by his grace a new and alien charm.
But in the city, like a wounded thing
That limps to cover from the angry chase,
He steals down streets where sickly arc-lights sing,
And wanly mock his young and shameful face;
And tiny gongs with cruel fervor ring
In many a high and dreary sleeping place.
Sonnet LXXXI.
by Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch)

Cesare, poi che 'l traditor d' Egitto.
THE COUNTENANCE DOES NOT ALWAYS TRULY INDICATE THE HEART.
When Egypt's traitor Pompey's honour'd head
To C'sar sent; then, records so relate,
To shroud a gladness manifestly great,
Some feigned tears the specious monarch shed:
And, when misfortune her dark mantle spread
O'er Hannibal, and his afflicted state,
He laugh'd 'midst those who wept their adverse fate,
That rank despite to wreak defeat had bred.
Thus doth the mind oft variously conceal
Its several passions by a different veil;
Now with a countenance that's sad, now gay:
So mirth and song if sometimes I employ,
'Tis but to hide those sorrows that annoy,
'Tis but to chase my amorous cares away.
NOTT.
C'sar, when Egypt's cringing traitor brought
The gory gift of Pompey's honour'd head,
Check'd the full gladness of his instant thought,
And specious tears of well-feign'd pity shed:
And Hannibal, when adverse Fortune wrought
On his afflicted empire evils dread,
'Mid shamed and sorrowing friends, by laughter, sought
To ease the anger at his heart that fed.
Thus, as the mind its every feeling hides,
Beneath an aspect contrary, the mien,
Bright'ning with hope or charged with gloom, is seen.
Thus ever if I sing, or smile betides,
The outward joy serves only to conceal
The inner ail and anguish that I feel.
MACGREGOR.
Ill Omens.
by Thomas Moore

When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow,
And stars in the heavens still lingering shone.
Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow,
The last time she e'er was to press it alone.
For the youth! whom she treasured her heart and her soul in,
Had promised to link the last tie before noon;
And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen
The maiden herself will steal after it soon.
As she looked in the glass, which a woman ne'er misses.
Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two,
A butterfly,[1] fresh from the night-flower's kisses.
Flew over the mirror, and shaded her view.
Enraged with the insect for hiding her graces,
She brushed him--he fell, alas; never to rise:
"Ah! such," said the girl, "is the pride of our faces,
"For which the soul's innocence too often dies."
While she stole thro' the garden, where heart's-ease was growing,
She culled some, and kist off its night-fallen dew;
And a rose, further on, looked so tempting and glowing,
That, spite of her haste, she must gather it too:
But while o'er the roses too carelessly leaning,
Her zone flew in two, and the
heart's-ease was lost:
"Ah! this means," said the girl
(and she sighed at its meaning),
"That love is scarce worth the
repose it will cost!"
The Highland Welcome.
by Robert Burns

When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er,
A time that surely shall come;
In Heaven itself I'll ask no more
Than just a Highland welcome.
The Sleeping Giant
by Emily Pauline Johnson

(THUNDER BAY, LAKE SUPERIOR)
When did you sink to your dreamless sleep
Out there in your thunder bed?
Where the tempests sweep,
And the waters leap,
And the storms rage overhead.
Were you lying there on your couch alone
Ere Egypt and Rome were born?
Ere the Age of Stone,
Or the world had known
The Man with the Crown of Thorn.
The winds screech down from the open west,
And the thunders beat and break
On the amethyst
Of your rugged breast, - 
But you never arise or wake.
You have locked your past, and you keep the key
In your heart 'neath the westing sun,
Where the mighty sea
And its shores will be
Storm-swept till the world is done.
The Instructors.
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

When Diogenes quietly sunn'd himself in his barrel,
When Calanus with joy leapt in the flame-breathing grave,
Oh, what noble lessons were those for the rash son of Philip,
Were not the lord of the world e'en for instruction too great!
The Slumber Angel
by Virna Sheard

When day is ended, and grey twilight flies
On silent wings across the tired land,
The slumber angel cometh from the skies - 
The slumber angel of the peaceful eyes,
And with the scarlet poppies in his hand.
His robes are dappled like the moonlit seas,
His hair in waves of silver floats afar;
He weareth lotus-bloom and sweet heartsease,
With tassels of the rustling green fir trees,
As down the dusk he steps from star to star.
Above the world he swings his curfew bell,
And sleep falls soft on golden heads and white;
The daisies curl their leaves beneath his spell,
The prisoner who wearies in his cell
Forgets awhile, and dreams throughout the night.
*    *    *    *    *
Even so, in peace, comes that great Lord of rest
Who crowneth men with amaranthine flowers;
Who telleth them the truths they have but guessed,
Who giveth them the things they love the best,
Beyond this restless, rocking world of ours.
To My Niece, Mrs. M.A. Caldwell.
by Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

When days are dark and spirits low,
And hope desponding stands,
What comfort these few words bestow,
"My times are in thy hands."
That thought should every fear allay,
And every cloud dispel;
For we are in the hands of One
Who "doeth all things well."
He clothes the lily of the field,
Paints the gay tulip's leaf,
Hears the young ravens when they cry,
And hastes to their relief.
That little sparrow in thy path,
He noticed when it fell;
Numbereth the hairs upon thy head,
And "doeth all things well."
Then say not when with cares oppressed,
He hath forsaken me;
For had thy father loved thee less,
Would he so chasten thee?
A friend he takes, a Husband too,
A Child, with him to dwell;
Selects the day, the place, the hour - 
"He doeth all things well."
His power is heard when thunders roll,
Felt when the cold wind blows,
Seen in the vivid lightning's flash,
And in the blushing rose.
He cares for monarch on his throne,
For hermit in his cell,
For sailor on the mighty deep - 
"He doeth all things well."
He raiseth one to high estate,
He brings another low;
This year an empire doth create
The next may overthrow.
What he may plan for you or me,
While here on earth we dwell,
We know not - but of this I'm sure,
"He doeth all things well."
Weston, April 18, 1853.
On Mrs. Biddy Floyd; Or, The Receipt To Form A Beauty. 1707
by Jonathan Swift

When Cupid did his grandsire Jove entreat
To form some Beauty by a new receipt, Jove sent, and found, far in a country scene,
Truth, innocence, good nature, look serene:
From which ingredients first the dext'rous boy
Pick'd the demure, the awkward, and the coy.
The Graces from the court did next provide
Breeding, and wit, and air, and decent pride:
These Venus cleans'd from ev'ry spurious grain
Of nice coquet, affected, pert, and vain.
Jove mix'd up all, and the best clay employ'd;
Then call'd the happy composition FLOYD.
The Plagues Of Egypt; Or, God's Providence Magnified In The Care Of His Chosen.
by Eliza Paul Kirkbride Gurney

When darkness over Egypt reigned,
A darkness to be felt,
Light sweetly shone round Goshen still,
The tents where Israel dwelt.
Awestruck, the Egyptians silent lay,
They rose not from their place;
God's finger had been o'er their land,
And left a fearful trace.
The very idols which they served
A gloom around them threw,
The stream they worshipped turned to blood,
The sun his light withdrew.
But Pharaoh's heart was hardened still,
He let not Israel go
Until Jehovah, King of kings,
Struck the last fearful blow.
The first-born on the kingly throne,
The first-born in the hall, 
God sent his awful mandate forth,
And death passed over all.
No house remained in this proud land
Which mourned not for its dead,
And every street was filled with gloom,
And every heart with dread.
At midnight was the message sent 
It was an awful hour,
Proclaiming man's impotency
And God's eternal power.
The mighty monarch, struck with awe,
Dismissed the people then;
Contending with Omnipotence
He felt indeed was vain.
And how were Israel employed
When light around them shone?
They then prepared the paschal lamb,
And stood with sandals on;
Staves in their hands, loins girded too,
They waited the command
To throw their loosened shackles off,
And seek the promised land.
But first they ate the passover,
And freely sprinkled round
The blood of an unblemished lamb,
In whom no spot was found.
And the destroying angel passed
Harmless o'er every door
Whose side-posts and whose lintels, too,
Faith's striking symbol bore.
Now let us pause and ask our hearts
If we have aught to learn,
If very many teaching things
We cannot here discern?
Is there not "darkness to be felt"
In Egypt at this hour?
And does she not refuse to bow
Before Jehovah's power?
And oh! when God's own Israel
Would break the oppressor's chain,
Does she approach His sacred throne
And supplicate in vain?
Ah, no! upon the captive still
Is poured a flood of light,
While he prepares for better worlds
To take his joyous flight.
His bonds are burst, he only waits
The omnipotent command
To journey forth, his armor's on,
His staff within his hand.
Not settled down in carnal ease,
This world is not his home,
A pilgrim and a stranger here,
He seeks for one to come.
Christ is his holy passover,
He has a part in Him;
For he applies his blood, in faith,
To purify from sin.
But oh! with very bitter herbs
It must be eaten still;
Suffering is yet the lot of those
Who do their Master's will.
And let the Christian not forget,
Israel was bid to stay
Within the shelter of the tent
Until the opening day.
And God is now his people's tent,
In Him may we abide;
Then though the faith will oft be proved,
The patience oft be tried,
An hour of sweet release will come,
And all the pilgrim band,
By flame and cloud alternate led,
Attain the promised land;
And wearing there the crown of joy,
And carrying, too, the palm,
Eternally ascribe the praise
To God and to the Lamb.
Outbid
by Ellis Parker Butler

When Cupid held an auction sale,
I hastened to his mart,
For I had heard that he would sell
The blue-eyed Dora's heart.
I brought a wealth of truest love,
The most that I could proffer,
Because, forsooth, of stocks or bonds
I had not one to offer.
When Cupid offered Dora's heart,
I bid my whole heart's love,
A love that reached from sea to sea
And to the sky above;
And When Sir Cupid called for more,
I bid my hands and life,
That should be hers for servitude
If she became my wife.
Then 'Going! going!' Cupid cried;
The silence was intense
Until old Goldbags said, 'I bid
My stocks and four per cents!'
Then Cupid cried, 'Fair Dora's heart,
That ne'er was sold before!
Does anybody raise the bid?
Will any offer more?'
'If not,' but Count Decrepit rose,
Infirm, decayed and slim;
'I hid my title!' and her heart
Was there knocked down to him.
Well! titles may be more than love!
I shall not rant nor rail;
For after all I much prefer
Some heart that's not for sale!
The Path To Faery
by Madison Julius Cawein

I
When dusk falls cool as a rained-on rose,
And a tawny tower the twilight shows,
With the crescent moon, the silver moon, the curved
new moon in a space that glows,
A turret window that grows alight;
There is a path that my Fancy knows,
A glimmering, shimmering path of night,
That far as the Land of Faery goes.
II
And I follow the path, as Fancy leads,
Over the mountains, into the meads,
Where the firefly cities, the glowworm cities, the faery
cities are strung like beads,
Each city a twinkling star:
And I live a life of valorous deeds,
And march with the Faery King to war,
And ride with his knights on milk-white steeds.
III
Or it's there in the whirl of their life I sit,
Or dance in their houses with starlight lit,
Their blossom houses, their flower houses, their elfin
houses, of fern leaves knit,
With fronded spires and domes:
And there it is that my lost dreams flit,
And the ghost of my childhood, smiling, roams
With the faery children so dear to it.
IV
And it's there I hear that they all come true,
The faery stories, whatever they do - 
Elf and goblin, dear elf and goblin, loved elf and goblin,
and all the crew
Of witch and wizard and gnome and fay,
And prince and princess, that wander through
The storybooks we have put away,
The faerytales that we loved and knew.
V
The face of Adventure lures you there,
And the eyes of Danger bid you dare,
While ever the bugles, the silver bugles, the far-off
bugles of Elfland blare,
The faery trumpets to battle blow;
And you feel their thrill in your heart and hair,
And you fain would follow and mount and go
And march with the Faeries anywhere.
VI
And she - she rides at your side again,
Your little sweetheart whose age is ten:
She is the princess, the faery princess, the princess fair
that you worshiped when
You were a prince in a faerytale;
And you do great deeds as you did them then,
With your magic spear, and enchanted mail,
Braving the dragon in his den.
VII
And you ask again, - "Oh, where shall we ride,
Now that the monster is slain, my bride?" - 
"Back to the cities, the firefly cities, the glowworm
cities where we can hide,
The beautiful cities of Faeryland.
And the light of my eyes shall be your guide,
The light of my eyes and my snow-white hand - 
And there forever we two will abide."
The Path To Faery
by Madison Julius Cawein

I.
When dusk falls cool as a rained-on rose,
And a tawny tower the twilight shows,
With the crescent moon, the silver moon, the curved new moon in a space that glows,
A turret window that grows alight;
There is a path that my Fancy knows,
A glimmering, shimmering path of night,
That far as the Land of Faery goes.
II.
And I follow the path, as Fancy leads,
Over the mountains, into the meads,
Where the firefly cities, the glowworm cities, the faery cities are strung like beads,
Each city a twinkling star:
And I live a life of valorous deeds,
And march with the Faery King to war,
And ride with his knights on milk-white steeds.
III.
Or it's there in the whirl of their life I sit,
Or dance in their houses with starlight lit,
Their blossom houses, their flower houses, their elfin houses, of fern leaves knit,
With fronded spires and domes:
And there it is that my lost dreams flit,
And the ghost of my childhood, smiling, roams
With the faery children so dear to it.
IV.
And it's there I hear that they all come true,
The faery stories, whatever they do
Elf and goblin, dear elf and goblin, loved elf and goblin, and all the crew
Of witch and wizard and gnome and fay,
And prince and princess, that wander through
The storybooks we have put away,
The faerytales that we loved and knew.
V.
The face of Adventure lures you there,
And the eyes of Danger bid you dare,
While ever the bugles, the silver bugles, the far-off bugles of Elfland blare,
The faery trumpets to battle blow;
And you feel their thrill in your heart and hair,
And you fain would follow and mount and go
And march with the Faeries anywhere.
VI.
And she she rides at your side again,
Your little sweetheart whose age is ten:
She is the princess, the faery princess, the princess fair that you worshiped when
You were a prince in a faerytale;
And you do great deeds as you did them then,
With your magic spear, and enchanted mail,
Braving the dragon in his den.
VII.
And you ask again, "Oh, where shall we ride,
Now that the monster is slain, my bride?"
"Back to the cities, the firefly cities, the glowworm cities where we can hide,
The beautiful cities of Faeryland.
And the light of my eyes shall be your guide,
The light of my eyes and my snow-white hand
And there forever we two will abide."
Epilogue
by Madison Julius Cawein

I.
When dusk falls cool as a rained-on rose,
And a tawny tower the twilight shows,
With the crescent moon, the silver moon, the curved new moon in a space that glows,
A turret window that grows a-light;
There is a path that my Fancy knows,
A glimmering, shimmering path of night,
That far as the Land of Faery goes.
II.
And I follow the path, as Fancy leads,
Over the mountains, into the meads,
Where the firefly cities, the glowworm cities, the fairy cities are strung like beads,
Each city a twinkling star:
And I live a life of valorous deeds,
And march with the Fairy King to war,
And ride with his knights on milk-white steeds.
III.
Or it's there in the whirl of their life I sit,
Or dance in their houses with starlight lit,
Their blossom houses, their flower houses, their elfin houses, of fern-leaves knit,
With fronded spires and domes:
And there it is that my lost dreams flit,
And the ghost of my childhood, smiling, roams
With the fairy children so dear to it.
IV.
And it's there I hear that they all come true,
The fairy-stories, whatever they do
Elf and goblin, dear elf and goblin, loved elf and goblin and all the crew
Of witch and wizard and gnome and fay,
And prince and princess, that wander through
The storybooks we have put away,
The fairytales that we loved and knew.
V.
The face of Adventure lures you there,
And the eyes of Danger bid you dare,
While ever the bugles, the silver bugles, the far-off bugles of Elfland blare,
The fairy trumpets to battle blow;
And you feel their thrill in your heart and hair,
And you fain would follow and mount and go
And march with the Fairies anywhere.
VI.
And she she rides at your side again,
Your little sweetheart whose age is ten:
She is the princess, the fairy princess, the princess fair that you worshipped when
You were a prince in a fairytale;
And you do great deeds as you did them then,
With your magic spear, and enchanted mail,
Braving the dragon in his den.
VII.
And you ask again, "Oh, where shall we ride,
Now that the monster is slain, my bride?"
"Back to the cities, the firefly cities, the glowworm cities where we can hide,
The beautiful cities of Faeryland.
And the light of my eyes shall be your guide,
The light of my eyes and my snow-white hand
And there forever we two will abide."
A Fallen Leaf
by Paul Bewsher

When Death has crossed my name from out the roll
Of dreaming children serving in this War;
And with these earthly eyes I gaze no more
Upon sweet England's grace - perhaps my soul
Will visit streets down which I used to stroll
At sunset-charm'd dusks, when London's roar
Like ebbing surf on some Atlantic shore
Would trance the ear. Then may I hear no toll
Of heavy bells to burden all the air
With tuneless grief: for happy will I be! - 
What place on earth could ever be more fair
Than God's own presence? - Mourn not then for me,
Nor write, I pray, "He gave" - upon my clod - 
"His life to England," but "his soul to God."
Isle of Sheppey, 1917.