DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
Mrs. Williams
by Edgar Lee Masters

I was the milliner
Talked about, lied about,
Mother of Dora,
Whose strange disappearance
Was charged to her rearing.
My eye quick to beauty
Saw much beside ribbons
And buckles and feathers
And leghorns and felts,
To set off sweet faces,
And dark hair and gold.
One thing I will tell you
And one I will ask:
The stealers of husbands
Wear powder and trinkets,
And fashionable hats.
Wives, wear them yourselves.
Hats may make divorces - 
They also prevent them.
Well now, let me ask you:
If all of the children, born here in Spoon River
Had been reared by the
County, somewhere on a farm;
And the fathers and mothers had been given their freedom
To live and enjoy, change mates if they wished,
Do you think that Spoon River
Had been any the worse?
The Rao of Ilore
by Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson)

I was sold to the Rao of Ilore,
Slender and tall was he.
When his litter carried him down the street
I peeped through the thatch to see.
Ah, the eyes of the Rao of Ilore,
My lover that was to be!
The hair that lay on his youthful brow
Was curled like an ocean wave;
His eyes were lit with a tender smile,
But his lips were soft and grave.
For sake of these things I was still with joy
When the silver coins were paid,
And they took me up to the Palace gates,
Delighted and unafraid.
Ah, the eyes of the Rao of Ilore,
May never their brilliance fade!
So near was I to the crown of life!
Ten thousand times, alas!
The Diwan leant from the latticed hall,
Looked down and saw me pass.
He begged for me from the Rao of Ilore,
Who answered, "She is thine,
Thou wert ever more than a father to me,
And thy desires are mine."
Ah, the eyes of the Rao of Ilore
That never had looked in mine!
My years were spent in the Diwan's Courts,
My youth died down that day.
For sake of thine own content of mind
My lost beloved, I pray
That never my Lord a love may know
Like that he threw away.
Ah, the eyes of the Rao of Ilore,
Who threw my life away!
Crowned
by Sara Teasdale

I wear a crown invisible and clear,
And go my lifted royal way apart
Since you have crowned me softly in your heart
With love that is half ardent, half austere;
And as a queen disguised might pass anear
The bitter crowd that barters in a mart,
Veiling her pride while tears of pity start,
I hide my glory thru a jealous fear.
My crown shall stay a sweet and secret thing
Kept pure with prayer at evensong and morn,
And when you come to take it from my head,
I shall not weep, nor will a word be said,
But I shall kneel before you, oh my king,
And bind my brow forever with a thorn.
Nursery Rhyme. CLXXXVIII. Riddles.
by Unknown

[A tobacco-pipe.]
I went into my grandmother's garden,
And there I found a farthing.
I went into my next door neighbour's,
There I bought a pipkin and a popkin - 
A slipkin and a slopkin,
A nailboard, a sailboard,
And all for a farthing.
To M. Leonard Willan, His Peculiar Friend.
by Robert Herrick

I will be short, and having quickly hurl'd
This line about, live thou throughout the world;
Who art a man for all scenes; unto whom,
What's hard to others, nothing's troublesome.
Can'st write the comic, tragic strain, and fall
From these to pen the pleasing pastoral:
Who fli'st at all heights: prose and verse run'st through;
Find'st here a fault, and mend'st the trespass too:
For which I might extol thee, but speak less,
Because thyself art coming to the press:
And then should I in praising thee be slow,
Posterity will pay thee what I owe.
Liebestod
by Alan Seeger

I who, conceived beneath another star,
Had been a prince and played with life, instead
Have been its slave, an outcast exiled far
From the fair things my faith has merited.
My ways have been the ways that wanderers tread
And those that make romance of poverty - 
Soldier, I shared the soldier's board and bed,
And Joy has been a thing more oft to me
Whispered by summer wind and summer sea
Than known incarnate in the hours it lies
All warm against our hearts and laughs into our eyes.
I know not if in risking my best days
I shall leave utterly behind me here
This dream that lightened me through lonesome ways
And that no disappointment made less dear;
Sometimes I think that, where the hilltops rear
Their white entrenchments back of tangled wire,
Behind the mist Death only can make clear,
There, like Brunhilde ringed with flaming fire,
Lies what shall ease my heart's immense desire:
There, where beyond the horror and the pain
Only the brave shall pass, only the strong attain.
Truth or delusion, be it as it may,
Yet think it true, dear friends, for, thinking so,
That thought shall nerve our sinews on the day
When to the last assault our bugles blow:
Reckless of pain and peril we shall go,
Heads high and hearts aflame and bayonets bare,
And we shall brave eternity as though
Eyes looked on us in which we would seem fair - 
One waited in whose presence we would wear,
Even as a lover who would be well-seen,
Our manhood faultless and our honor clean.
The Ghost
by Sara Teasdale

I went back to the clanging city,
I went back where my old loves stayed,
But my heart was full of my new love's glory,
My eyes were laughing and unafraid.
I met one who had loved me madly
And told his love for all to hear,
But we talked of a thousand things together,
The past was buried too deep to fear.
I met the other, whose love was given
With never a kiss and scarcely a word,
Oh, it was then the terror took me
Of words unuttered that breathed and stirred.
Oh, love that lives its life with laughter
Or love that lives its life with tears
Can die, but love that is never spoken
Goes like a ghost through the winding years....
I went back to the clanging city,
I went back where my old loves stayed,
My heart was full of my new love's glory,
But my eyes were suddenly afraid.
To Laura In Death. Canzone V.
by Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch)

Solea dalla fontana di mia vita.
MEMORY IS HIS ONLY SOLACE AND SUPPORT.
I who was wont from life's best fountain far
So long to wander, searching land and sea,
Pursuing not my pleasure, but my star,
And alway, as Love knows who strengthen'd me,
Ready in bitter exile to depart,
For hope and memory both then fed my heart;
Alas! now wring my hands, and to unkind
And angry Fortune, which away has reft
That so sweet hope, my armour have resign'd;
And, memory only left,
I feed my great desire on that alone,
Whence frail and famish'd is my spirit grown.
As haply by the way, if want of food
Compel the traveller to relax his speed,
Losing that strength which first his steps endued,
So feeling, for my weary life, the need
Of that dear nourishment Death rudely stole,
Leaving the world all bare, and sad my soul,
From time to time fair pleasures pall, my sweet
To bitter turns, fear rises, and hopes fail,
My course, though brief, that I shall e'er complete:
Cloudlike before the gale,
To win some resting-place from rest I flee,
--If such indeed my doom, so let it be.
Never to mortal life could I incline,
--Be witness, Love, with whom I parley oft--
Except for her who was its light and mine.
And since, below extinguish'd, shines aloft
The life in which I lived, if lawful 'twere,
My chief desire would be to follow her:
But mine is ample cause of grief, for I
To see my future fate was ill supplied;
This Love reveal'd within her beauteous eye
Elsewhere my hopes to guide:
Too late he dies, disconsolate and sad,
Whom death a little earlier had made glad.
In those bright eyes, where wont my heart to dwell,
Until by envy my hard fortune stirr'd
Rose from so rich a temple to expel,
Love with his proper hand had character'd
In lines of pity what, ere long, I ween
The issue of my old desire had been.
Dying alone, and not my life with me,
Comely and sweet it then had been to die,
Leaving my life's best part unscathed and free;
But now my fond hopes lie
Dead in her silent dust: a secret chill
Shoots through me when I think that I live still.
If my poor intellect had but the force
To help my need, and if no other lure
Had led it from the plain and proper course,
Upon my lady's brow 'twere easy sure
To have read this truth, "Here all thy pleasure dies,
And hence thy lifelong trial dates its rise."
My spirit then had gently pass'd away
In her dear presence from all mortal care;
Freed from this troublesome and heavy clay,
Mounting, before her, where
Angels and saints prepared on high her place,
Whom I but follow now with slow sad pace.
My song! if one there be
Who in his love finds happiness and rest,
Tell him this truth from me,
"Die, while thou still art bless'd,
For death betimes is comfort, not dismay,
And who can rightly die needs no delay."
MACGREGOR.
Paying Calls
by Thomas Hardy

I went by footpath and by stile
Beyond where bustle ends,
Strayed here a mile and there a mile
And called upon some friends.
On certain ones I had not seen
For years past did I call,
And then on others who had been
The oldest friends of all.
It was the time of midsummer
When they had used to roam;
But now, though tempting was the air,
I found them all at home.
I spoke to one and other of them
By mound and stone and tree
Of things we had done ere days were dim,
But they spoke not to me.
Sonnet CXCIV.
by Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch)

I' piansi, or canto; che 'l celeste lume.
AT HER RETURN, HIS SORROWS VANISH.
I wept, but now I sing; its heavenly light
That living sun conceals not from my view,
But virtuous love therein revealeth true
His holy purposes and precious might;
Whence, as his wont, such flood of sorrow springs
To shorten of my life the friendless course,
Nor bridge, nor ford, nor oar, nor sails have force
To forward mine escape, nor even wings.
But so profound and of so full a vein
My suff'ring is, so far its shore appears,
Scarcely to reach it can e'en thought contrive:
Nor palm, nor laurel pity prompts to gain,
But tranquil olive, and the dark sky clears,
And checks my grief and wills me to survive.
MACGREGOR.
A Bruised Reed Shall He Not Break
by Christina Georgina Rossetti

I will accept thy will to do and be,
Thy hatred and intolerance of sin,
Thy will at least to love, that burns within
And thirsteth after Me:
So will I render fruitful, blessing still,
The germs and small beginnings in thy heart,
Because thy will cleaves to the better part. - 
Alas, I cannot will.
Dost not thou will, poor soul? Yet I receive
The inner unseen longings of the soul,
I guide them turning towards Me; I control
And charm hearts till they grieve:
If thou desire, it yet shall come to pass,
Though thou but wish indeed to choose My love;
For I have power in earth and heaven above. - 
I cannot wish, alas!
What, neither choose nor wish to choose? and yet
I still must strive to win thee and constrain:
For thee I hung upon the cross in pain,
How then can I forget?
If thou as yet dost neither love, nor hate,
Nor choose, nor wish, - resign thyself, be still
Till I infuse love, hatred, longing, will. - 
I do not deprecate.
An Ode To Englishmen.
by Eric Mackay

I.
I who have sung of love and lady bright
And mirth and music and the world's delight,
Behold! to-day, I sound a sterner note
To move the minds of foemen when they fight.
II.
Have I not said: There is no sweeter thing,
And none diviner than the wedding-ring?
And, all intent to make my meaning plain,
Have I not kiss'd the lips of Love, the King?
III.
Yea, this is so. But lo! to-day there comes
The far-off sound of trumpets and of drums;
And I must parley with the men of toil
Who rise in ranks exultant from the slums.
IV.
I must arraign each man; yea, all the host;
And each true soul shall learn the least and most
Of all his wrongs, - if wrongs indeed they be;
And he shall face the flag that guards the coast.
V.
He shall salute it! He shall find therein
Salve for his wounds and solace for his sin.
Brother and guide is he who loves his Land;
But he is kinless who denies his kin.
VI.
Has he a heart to feel, a knee to bend,
And will not trust his country to the end?
If this be so, God help him to a tear!
He shall be foiled, as foeman and as friend.
VII.
Bears he a sword? I care not. He is base;
Unfit to wield it, and of meaner place
Than tongue can tell of, in the Senate House;
And he shall find no balm for his disgrace.
VIII.
O men! I charge ye, in the name of Him
Who rules the world, and guards the cherubim,
I charge ye, pause, ere from the lighted track
Ye turn, distraught, to pathways that are dim.
IX.
Who gave your fathers, and your fathers' sons
The rights ye claim, amid the roar of guns,
And 'mid the flash thereof from sea to sea?
Your country! through her lov'd, her chosen ones.
X.
Oh, ye are dastards if ye lift a hand,
Dastards and fools, if, loveless in a band,
Ye touch in wrath the bulwark of the realm.
Ye shall be baulk'd, and Chivalry shall stand.
XI.
I have a sword, I also, and I swear
By my heart's faith, and by my Lady's hair,
That I will strike the first of ye that moves,
If by a sign ye wrong the flag ye bear.
XII.
In Freedom's name, in her's to whom we bow,
In her great name, I charge ye, palter now
With no traducer of your country's cause.
Accurst of God is he who breaks his vow!
Tommy
by Rudyard Kipling

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.
Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.
You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool, you bet that Tommy sees!
Samuel Gardner
by Edgar Lee Masters

I who kept the greenhouse,
Lover of trees and flowers,
Oft in life saw this umbrageous elm,
Measuring its generous branches with my eye,
And listened to its rejoicing leaves
Lovingly patting each other
With sweet aeolian whispers.
And well they might:
For the roots had grown so wide and deep
That the soil of the hill could not withhold
Aught of its virtue, enriched by rain,
And warmed by the sun;
But yielded it all to the thrifty roots,
Through which it was drawn and whirled to the trunk,
And thence to the branches, and into the leaves,
Wherefrom the breeze took life and sang.
Now I, an under - tenant of the earth, can see
That the branches of a tree
Spread no wider than its roots.
And how shall the soul of a man
Be larger than the life he has lived?
She, To Him III
by Thomas Hardy

I will be faithful to thee; aye, I will!
And Death shall choose me with a wondering eye
That he did not discern and domicile
One his by right ever since that last Good-bye!
I have no care for friends, or kin, or prime
Of manhood who deal gently with me here;
Amid the happy people of my time
Who work their love's fulfilment, I appear
Numb as a vane that cankers on its point,
True to the wind that kissed ere canker came;
Despised by souls of Now, who would disjoint
The mind from memory, and make Life all aim,
My old dexterities of hue quite gone,
And nothing left for Love to look upon.
1866.
The Caged Eagle.
by Francis William Lauderdale Adams

. . . I went the other day
To see the birds and beasts they keep enmewed
In the London Zoo. One of the first I saw - 
One of the first I noticed, was an eagle.
Ragged, befouled, within his iron bars
He sat without a movement or a sound,
And, when I stood and pitying looked at him,
I saw his great sad eyes that winkless gazed
Out to the horizon sky. I passed from there,
And walked about the gardens, hither and thither,
Till all the afternoon was spent. Returning then
To seek my home, again by chance I passed
The eagle's cage, and stood again, and looked,
And saw his great sad eyes that winkless gazed
Out to the horizon sky. So I went home . . .
The eagle is Ireland!
At A Seaside Town In 1869 - Young Lover's Reverie
by Thomas Hardy

I went and stood outside myself,
Spelled the dark sky
And ship-lights nigh,
And grumbling winds that passed thereby.
Then next inside myself I looked,
And there, above
All, shone my Love,
That nothing matched the image of.
Beyond myself again I ranged;
And saw the free
Life by the sea,
And folk indifferent to me.
O 'twas a charm to draw within
Thereafter, where
But she was; care
For one thing only, her hid there!
But so it chanced, without myself
I had to look,
And then I took
More heed of what I had long forsook:
The boats, the sands, the esplanade,
The laughing crowd;
Light-hearted, loud
Greetings from some not ill-endowed;
The evening sunlit cliffs, the talk,
Hailings and halts,
The keen sea-salts,
The band, the Morgenblatter Waltz.
Still, when at night I drew inside
Forward she came,
Sad, but the same
As when I first had known her name.
Then rose a time when, as by force,
Outwardly wooed
By contacts crude,
Her image in abeyance stood . . .
At last I said: This outside life
Shall not endure;
I'll seek the pure
Thought-world, and bask in her allure.
Myself again I crept within,
Scanned with keen care
The temple where
She'd shone, but could not find her there.
I sought and sought. But O her soul
Has not since thrown
Upon my own
One beam! Yea, she is gone, is gone.
From an old note.
Sonnet LIV.
by Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch)

Io son gi' stanco di pensar siccome.
HE WONDERS AT HIS LONG ENDURANCE OF SUCH TOIL AND SUFFERING.
I weary me alway with questions keen
How, why my thoughts ne'er turn from you away,
Wherefore in life they still prefer to stay,
When they might flee this sad and painful scene,
And how of the fine hair, the lovely mien,
Of the bright eyes which all my feelings sway,
Calling on your dear name by night and day,
My tongue ne'er silent in their praise has been,
And how my feet not tender are, nor tired,
Pursuing still with many a useless pace
Of your fair footsteps the elastic trace;
And whence the ink, the paper whence acquired,
Fill'd with your memories: if in this I err,
Not art's defect but Love's own fault it were.
MACGREGOR.
Winter Stars
by Sara Teasdale

I went out at night alone;
The young blood flowing beyond the sea
Seemed to have drenched my spirit's wings,
I bore my sorrow heavily.
But when I lifted up my head
From shadows shaken on the snow,
I saw Orion in the east
Burn steadily as long ago.
From windows in my father's house,
Dreaming my dreams on winter nights,
I watched Orion as a girl
Above another city's lights.
Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too,
The world's heart breaks beneath its wars,
All things are changed, save in the east
The faithful beauty of the stars.
The Brig
by Violet Jacob

I whiles gang to the brig-side
That's past the briar tree,
Alang the road when the licht is wide
Owre Angus an' the sea.
In by the dyke yon briar grows
Wi' leaf an' thorn, it's lane
Whaur the spunk o' flame o' the briar rose
Burns saft agin the stane.
An' whiles a step treids on by me,
I mauna hear its fa';
And atween the brig an' the briar tree
Ther gangs na' ane, but twa.
Oot owre yon sea, through dule an' strife,
Ye tak' yer road nae mair,
For ye've crossed the brig to the fields o' life,
An' ye walk for iver there.
I traivel on to the brig-side,
Whaur ilka road maun cease,
My weary war may be lang to bide,
An' you hae won to peace.
There's ne'er a nicht but turns to day,
Nor a load that's niver cast;
An' there's nae wind cries on the winter brae,
But it spends itsel' at last.
O you that niver failed me yet,
Gin aince my step ye hear,
Come to yon brig atween us set,
An' bide till I win near!
O weel, aye, weel, ye'll ken my treid,
Ye'll seek nae word nor sign,
An' I'll no can fail at the Brig o' Dreid,
For yer hand will be in mine.
Brown Penny
by William Butler Yeats

I Whispered, "I am too young,"
And then, "I am old enough";
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
"Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair."
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.
O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.
Mouths Of Hippopotami And Some Recent Novels
by Ellis Parker Butler

(with apologies to Frederic Taber Cooper)
I well recall (and who does not)
The circus bill-board hippopotamus,
whose wide distended jaws
For fear and terror were good cause.
That month, that vasty carmine cave,
Could munch with ease a Nubian slave;
In fact, the bill-board hippopot-
amus could bolt a house and lot!
Wide opened, that tremendous mouth
Obscured three-quarters of the south
Side of Schmidt's barn, and promised me
Thrills, shocks, delights and ecstasy.
And then, alas! what sad non plus
The living hippopotamus!
'Twas but a stupid, sodden lump
As thrilling as an old elm stump.
Its mouth, unreasonably small,
The hippo opened not at all,
Or, if it did, it was about
As thrilling as a teapot spout.
*    *    *    *    *
The Crimson Junk, by Doris Watt,
I've read it. Who, I pray, has not?
Bill Wastel, by C. Marrow. The
Plaid Cowslip. And The Hocking Lee.
The Fallow Field, by Sally Loo;
The Rose in Chains. I've read that too;
I've read them all for promised treat
Of thrills, emotions, tremblings sweet.
*    *    *    *    *
The bill-board hippopotamus
It was a wild, uprageous cuss,
The real one? Well, Can you recall
That it had any mouth at all?
Sonnets II.
by George MacDonald

Inscribed to S.F.S., about her father.
I went to listen to my teacher friend.
O Friend above, thanks for the friend below!
Who having been made wise, deep things to know,
With brooding spirit over them doth bend,
Until they waken words, as wings, to send
Their seeds far forth, seeking a place to grow.
The lesson past, with quiet foot I go,
And towards his silent room, expectant wend,
Seeking a blessing, even leave to dwell
For some eternal minutes in his eyes.
And he smiled on me in his loving wise;
His hand spoke friendship, satisfied me well;
My presence was some pleasure, I could tell.
Then forth we went beneath the smoky skies.