DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
The Picnic
by Charles G. Leland

De Picknock oud at Spraker's Wood:
It melt de soul und fire de plood.
Id sofly slid from cakes und cream;
Boot busted oop on brandy shdeam.
Mit stims of tender graceful ring,
De gals begoon a song to sing;
A bland mildt lied of olden dime
Deutsch vas die doon, und Deutsch de rhyme.
Wi's uff der Stross' wenn's finschter ischt,
Und niemond in der Goss' mehr ischt,
Nur Sch'ne M'del wolle mer fonga,
Wie es gebil'te Leut' verlonga.
At de picknock oud in Spraker's Wood,
De Bier was soft de gals were good:
Oondil von feller, vild and rasch,
Called out for a Yankee brandy-smash!
A crow vot vas valkin on de vall,
Fell dead ven he hear dis Dootchmann call;
For he knew dat droples coom, py shinks!
Ven de Dootch go in for Yankee drinks.
De Dootch got ravin droonk ash sin,
Dey smash de windows out und in;
Dey bust und bang de bar-room ein,
Und call for a bucket of branntewein.
Avay, avay, demselfs dey floong,
Und a wild infernal lied dey sung:
'Tvas, 'Tam de wein, and cuss de bier!
Ve tont care nix for de demprance here!
'O keep a pringin juleps in,
Und baldface corn dat burn like sin;
Mit apple tods und oldt shtone fence,
Ve'll all get corned ere ve go hence!'
Dey dash deir glasses on de cround,
Und tanz dill 'tvas all to brick-duss ground,
Ven dey hear von man had a ten-dollar note,
De crowd go dead for dat rich man's troat.
A demperance chap vot coomed dere in,
Vent squanderin out mit his shell burst in;
'It's walk your chalks, you loost your chance,
Dis vot de call der Dootchmans' dance.'
Boot ven de law, mit his myrmidon,
Vas hear of dese Dootchmen's carryins-on,
Dey sent bolicemen shtern und good,
To pull dose Dootch in Spraker's Wood.
De Dootch vas all gone roarin mad,
Und trinked mit Spraker all dey had;
Dey shpend 'nuf money to last deir life,
And each vas tantzin mit anoder man's wife.
Dey all cot poonish difers vays,
Some vent to jug for dirty tays;
Und de von dat kilt de demperance man
Vas kit from de Alderman repriman.
Und dus it ran: 'A warnin dake,
For you mighdt hafe mate soom pig mishdake;
Now how vouldt you hafe feeled, py shing!
If dat man hat peen in de whiskey ring?
'Since you votes mine dicket, of course you know,
I'm pound to led you shlide und go.
Boot nefer on whiskey trink your fill,
For you Dootchmen don't know who to kill.'
Now Deutschers all on dis warning dink,
Und don't get troonk on Yankee trink,
For neider you, or anoder man,
Can pe hocks like de New York rowdies can.
So trink goot bier, mit musik plest,
For if you tried your level best,
You can't be plackguarts taint in de plood:
Dus endet de shdory of Spraker's Wood.
Winter's Approach
by Paul Laurence Dunbar

De sun hit shine an' de win' hit blow,
Ol' Brer Rabbit be a-layin' low,
He know dat de wintah time a-comin',
De huntah man he walk an' wait,
He walk right by Brer Rabbit's gate--
He know--
De dog he lick his sliverin' chop,
An' he tongue 'gin' his mouf go flop, flop--
He--
He rub his nose fu' to clah his scent
So's to tell w'ich way dat cottontail went,
He--
De huntah's wife she set an' spin
A good wahm coat fu' to wrop him in
She--
She look at de skillet an' she smile, oh my!
An' ol' Brer Rabbit got to sholy fly.
Dey know.
A Ballad Apout de Rowdies
by Charles G. Leland

De moon shines ofer de cloudlens,
Und de cloudts plow ofer de sea,
Und I vent to Coney Island,
Und I took mein Schatz mit me.
Mein Schatz, Katrina Bauer,
I gife her mein heart und vortdt;
Boot ve tidn't know vot beoples
De Dampfsschiff hafe cot on poard.
De preeze plowed cool und bleasant,
We looket at de town
Mit sonn-light on de shdeebles,
Und wetter fanes doornin' round.
Ve sat on de deck in a gorner
Und dropled nopody dere,
Vhen all aroundt oos de rowdies
Peginned to plackguard und schvear.
A voman mit a papy
Vos sittin' in de blace;
Von tooket a chew tobacco
Und trowed it indo her vace.
De voman got coonvulshons,
De papy pegin to gry;
Und de rowdies shkreemed out a laffin,
Und saidt dat de fun was 'high.'
Pimepy ve become some hoonger,
Katrina Bauer und I,
I openet de lit of mine pasket,
Und pringed out a cherry bie.
A cherry kooken mit pretzels,
'How goot!' Katrina said,
Vhen a rowdy snatched it from her,
Und preaked it ofer mine het.
I dells him he pe a plackguart,
I gifed him a biece my mind,
I vouldt saidt it pefore a tousand,
Mit der teufel himself pehind.
Den he knocks me down mit a sloong-shot,
Und peats me plack and plue;
Und de plackguards kick me,
Dill I vainted, und dat ish drue.
De rich American beoples
Don't know how de rowdies shtrike
Der poor hardtworkin' Sharman,
He knows it more ash he like.
If de Deutsche speakers und bapers
Are somedimes too hard on dis land,
Shoost dink how de Deutsch kit driven
Along by de rowdy's hand!
The Dead Prophet
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

I.
Dead!
And the Muses cried with a stormy cry
'Send them no more, for evermore.
Let the people die.'
II.
Dead!
'Is it he then brought so low?'
And a careless people flock'd from the fields
With a purse to pay for the show.
III.
Dead, who had served his time,
Was one of the people's kings,
Had labour'd in lifting them out of slime,
And showing them, souls have wings!
IV.
Dumb on the winter heath he lay.
His friends had stript him bare,
And roll'd his nakedness everyway
That all the crowd might stare.
V.
A storm-worn signpost not to be read,
And a tree with a moulder'd nest
On its barkless bones, stood stark by the dead;
And behind him, low in the West,
VI.
With shifting ladders of shadow and light,
And blurr'd in colour and form,
The sun hung over the gates of Night,
And glared at a coming storm.
VII.
Then glided a vulturous Beldam forth,
That on dumb death had thriven;
They call'd her 'Reverence' here upon earth,
And 'The Curse of the Prophet' in Heaven.
VIII.
She knelt''We worship him''all but wept'
'So great so noble was he!'
She clear'd her sight, she arose, she swept
The dust of earth from her knee.
IX.
'Great! for he spoke and the people heard,
And his eloquence caught like a flame
From zone to zone of the world, till his Word
Had won him a noble name.
X.
Noble! he sung, and the sweet sound ran
Thro' palace and cottage door,
For he touch'd on the whole sad planet of man,
The kings and the rich and the poor;
XI.
And he sung not alone of an old sun set,
But a sun coming up in his youth!
Great and noble'O yes'but yet'
For man is a lover of Truth,
XII.
And bound to follow, wherever she go
Stark-naked, and up or down,
Thro' her high hill-passes of stainless snow,
Or the foulest sewer of the town'
XIII.
Noble and great'O ay'but then,
Tho' a prophet should have his due,
Was he noblier-fashion'd than other men?
Shall we see to it, I and you?
XIV.
For since he would sit on a Prophet's seat,
As a lord of the Human soul,
We needs must scan him from head to feet
Were it but for a wart or a mole?'
XV.
His wife and his child stood by him in tears,
But she'she push'd them aside.
'Tho' a name may last for a thousand years,
Yet a truth is a truth,' she cried.
XVI.
And she that had haunted his pathway still,
Had often truckled and cower'd
When he rose in his wrath, and had yielded her will
To the master, as overpower'd,
XVII.
She tumbled his helpless corpse about.
'Small blemish upon the skin!
But I think we know what is fair without
Is often as foul within.'
XVIII.
She crouch'd, she tore him part from part,
And out of his body she drew
The red 'Blood-eagle' of liver and heart;
She held them up to the view;
XIX.
She gabbled, as she groped in the dead,
And all the people were pleased;
'See, what a little heart,' she said,
'And the liver is half-diseased!'
XX.
She tore the Prophet after death,
And the people paid her well.
Lightnings flicker'd along the heath;
One shriek'd 'The fires of Hell!'
Horreur Sympathique (French)
by Charles Baudelaire

De ce ciel bizarre et livide,
Tourment' comme ton destin,
Quels pensers dans ton 'me vide
Descendent? R'ponds, libertin.
'Insatiablement avide
De l'obscur et de l'incertain,
Je ne geindrai pas comme Ovide
Chass' du paradis latin.
Cieux d'chir's comme des gr'ves,
En vous se mire mon orgueil,
Vos vastes nuages en deuil
Sont les corbillards de mes r'ves,
Et vos lueurs sont le reflet
De l'Enfer o' mon c'ur se pla't.
Hen-Roost Man, The
by Ruth McEnery Stuart

De Hen-roost Man he'll preach about Paul,
An' James an' John, an' Herod, an' all,
But nuver a word about Peter, oh, no!
He's afeard he'll hear dat rooster crow.
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat,
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat.
The Chartist's Complaint
by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Day! hast thou two faces,
Making one place two places?
One, by humble farmer seen,
Chill and wet, unlighted, mean,
Useful only, triste and damp,
Serving for a laborer's lamp?
Have the same mists another side,
To be the appanage of pride,
Gracing the rich man's wood and lake,
His park where amber mornings break,
And treacherously bright to show
His planted isle where roses glow?
O Day! and is your mightiness
A sycophant to smug success?
Will the sweet sky and ocean broad
Be fine accomplices to fraud?
O Sun! I curse thy cruel ray:
Back, back to chaos, harlot Day!
The Test. (Little Poems In Prose.)
by Emma Lazarus

1. Daylong I brooded upon the Passion of Israel.
2. I saw him bound to the wheel, nailed to the cross, cut off by the sword, burned at the stake, tossed into the seas.
3. And always the patient, resolute, martyr face arose in silent rebuke and defiance.
4. A Prophet with four eyes; wide gazed the orbs of the spirit above the sleeping eyelids of the senses.
5. A Poet, who plucked from his bosom the quivering heart and fashioned it into a lyre.
6. A placid-browed Sage, uplifted from earth in celestial meditation.
7. These I saw, with princes and people in their train; the monumental dead and the standard-bearers of the future.
8. And suddenly I heard a burst of mocking laughter, and turning, I beheld the shuffling gait, the ignominious features, the sordid mask of the son of the Ghetto.
A Little Christmas Basket
by Paul Laurence Dunbar

De win' is hollahin' "Daih you" to de shuttahs an' de fiah,
De snow's a-sayin' "Got you" to de groun',
Fu' de wintah weathah 's come widout a-askin' ouah desiah,
An' he 's laughin' in his sleeve at whut he foun';
Fu' dey ain't nobody ready wid dey fuel er dey food,
An' de money bag look timid lak, fu' sho',
So we want ouah Chrismus sermon, but we 'd lak it ef you could
Leave a little Chrismus basket at de do'.
Wha 's de use o' tellin' chillen 'bout a Santy er a Nick,
An' de sto'ies dat a body allus tol'?
When de harf is gray wid ashes an' you has n't got a stick
Fu' to warm dem when dey little toes is col'?
Wha 's de use o' preachin' 'ligion to a man dat's sta'ved to def,
An' a-tellin' him de Mastah will pu'vide?
Ef you want to tech his feelin's, save yo' sermons an' yo' bref,
Tek a little Chrismus basket by yo' side.
'T ain't de time to open Bibles an' to lock yo' cellah do',
'T ain't de time to talk o' bein' good to men;
Ef you want to preach a sermon ez you nevah preached befo',
Preach dat sermon wid a shoat er wid er hen;
Bein' good is heap sight bettah den a-dallyin' wid sin,
An' dey ain't nobody roun' dat knows it mo',
But I t'ink dat 'ligion 's sweeter w'en it kind o' mixes in
Wid a little Chrismus basket at de do'.
The Interpreters
by Algernon Charles Swinburne

I
Days dawn on us that make amends for many
Sometimes,
When heaven and earth seem sweeter even than any
Man's rhymes.
Light had not all been quenched in France, or quelled
In Greece,
Had Homer sung not, or had Hugo held
His peace.
Had Sappho's self not left her word thus long
For token,
The sea round Lesbos yet in waves of song
Had spoken.
II
And yet these days of subtler air and finer
Delight,
When lovelier looks the darkness, and diviner
The light -
The gift they give of all these golden hours,
Whose urn
Pours forth reverberate rays or shadowing showers
In turn -
Clouds, beams, and winds that make the live day's track
Seem living -
What were they did no spirit give them back
Thanksgiving?
III
Dead air, dead fire, dead shapes and shadows, telling
Time nought;
Man gives them sense and soul by song, and dwelling
In thought.
In human thought their being endures, their power
Abides:
Else were their life a thing that each light hour
Derides.
The years live, work, sigh, smile, and die, with all
They cherish;
The soul endures, though dreams that fed it fall
And perish.
IV
In human thought have all things habitation;
Our days
Laugh, lower, and lighten past, and find no station
That stays.
But thought and faith are mightier things than time
Can wrong,
Made splendid once with speech, or made sublime
By song.
Remembrance, though the tide of change that rolls
Wax hoary,
Gives earth and heaven, for song's sake and the soul's,
Their glory.
Dedicatory Poem to the Princess Alice
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Dead Princess, living Power, if that which lived
True life live on'and if the fatal kiss,
Born of true life and love, divorce thee not
From earthly love and life'if what we call
The spirit flash not all at once from out
This shadow into Substance'then perhaps
The mellow'd murmur of the people's praise
From thine own State, and all our breadth of realm,
Where Love and Longing dress thy deeds in light,
Ascends to thee; and this March morn that sees
Thy Soldier-brother's bridal orange-bloom
Break thro' the yews and cypress of thy grave,
And thine Imperial mother smile again,
May send one ray to thee! and who can tell'
Thou'England's England-loving daughter'thou
Dying so English thou wouldst have her flag
Borne on thy coffin'where is he can swear
But that some broken gleam from our poor earth
May touch thee, while, remembering thee, I lay
At thy pale feet this ballad of the deeds
Of England, and her banner in the East?
Johnnie's First Moose
by William Henry Drummond

De cloud is hide de moon, but dere's plain-tee light above,
Steady Johnnie, steady,kip your head down low,
Move de paddle leetle quicker, an' de ole canoe we'll shove
T'roo de water nice an' quiet
For de place we're goin' try it
Is beyon' de silver birch dere
You can see it lak a church dere
W'en we're passin' on de corner w'ere de lilly flower grow.
Was n't dat correc' w'at I'm tolin' you jus now?
Steady Johnnie, steady,kip your head down low,
Never min', I'll watch behin', me , an' you can watch de bow
An' you'll see a leetle clearer
W'en canoe is comin' nearer,
Dere she is,now easy, easy,
For de win' is gettin' breezy,
An' we don't want not'ing smell us, till de horn begin to blow,
I remember long ago w'en ma fader tak' me out,
Steady Johnnie, steady,kip your head down low,
Jus' de way I'm takin' you, sir, hello! was dat a shout?
Seems to me I t'ink I'm hearin'
Somet'ing stirrin' on de clearin'
W'ere it stan' de lumber shaintee,
If it's true, den yuo'll have plaintee
Work to do in half a minute, if de moose don't start to go.
An' now we're on de shore, let us hide de ole canoe,
Steady Johnnie, steady,kip your head down low,
An' lie among de rushes, dat's bes' t'ing we can do,
For de ole boy may be closer
Dan anybody know, sir,
An' look out you don't be shakin'
Or de bad shot you'll be makin'
But I'm feelin' sam' way too, me, w'en I was young, also,
You ready for de call? here goes for number wan,
Steady Johnnie, steady,kip your head down low,
Did you hear how nice I do it, an' how it travel on
Till ir reach across de reever
Dat'll geev' some moose de fever!
Wait now, Johnnie, don't you worry,
No use bein' on de hurry,
But lissen for de answer, it'll come before you know.
For w'y you jomp lak dat? w'at's matter wit' your ear?
Steady, Johnnie, steady-kip your head down low,
Tak' your finger off de trigger, dat was only bird you hear,
Can't you tell de pine tree crickin'
Or de boule frog w'en he's spikin' ?
Don't you know de grey owl singin'
From de beeg moose w'en he's ringin'
Out hees challenge on de message your ole gran' fader blow?
You're lucky boy to-night, wit' hunter man lak me!
Steady, Johnnie, steady-kip your head down low,
Can tole you all about it! H-s-s-h! dat's somet'ing now I see,
Dere he's comin' t'roo de bushes,
So get down among de rushes,
Hear heem walk! I t'ink, by tonder,
He mus' go near fourteen honder!
Dat's de feller I been watchin' all de evening,
I dunno.
I'll geev' anoder call, jus' a leetle wan or two,
Steady, Johnnie, steady-kip your head down low,
W'en he see dere's no wan waitin' I wonder w'at he'll do?
But look out for here he's comin'
Sa-pris-ti! ma heart is drummin'!
You can never get heem nearer
An' de moon is shinin' clearer,
W'at a fine shot you'll be havin'! now
Johnnie let her go!
Bang! bang! you got heem sure! an' he'll never run away
Nor feed among de lily on de shore of Wessonneau,
So dat's your firse moose Johnnie! wall! remember all I say,
Does n't matter w'at you 're chasin',
Does n't matter w'at you 're facin',
Only watch de t'ing you're doin'
If you don't, ba gosh! you 're ruin
An' steady, Johnnie, steady-kip your head down low.
Antiphon
by George MacDonald

Daylight fades away.
Is the Lord at hand
In the shadows gray
Stealing on the land?
Gently from the east
Come the shadows gray;
But our lowly priest
Nearer is than they.
It is darkness quite.
Is the Lord at hand,
In the cloak of night
Stolen upon the land?
But I see no night,
For my Lord is here
With him dark is light,
With him far is near.
List! the cock's awake.
Is the Lord at hand?
Cometh he to make
Light in all the land?
Long ago he made
Morning in my heart;
Long ago he bade
Shadowy things depart.
Lo, the dawning hill!
Is the Lord at hand,
Come to scatter ill,
Ruling in the land?
He hath scattered ill,
Ruling in my mind;
Growing to his will,
Freedom comes, I find.
We will watch all day,
Lest the Lord should come;
All night waking stay
In the darkness dumb.
I will work all day,
For the Lord hath come;
Down my head will lay
All night, glad and dumb.
For we know not when
Christ may be at hand;
But we know that then
Joy is in the land.
For I know that where
Christ hath come again,
Quietness without care
Dwelleth in his men.
Bribes And Gifts Get All.
by Robert Herrick

Dead falls the cause if once the hand be mute;
But let that speak, the client gets the suit.
Translations. - A Song Of Thanksgiving For The Benefits Most Great Which God Hath Shown To Us In Christ. (Luther's Song-Book.)
by George MacDonald

Dear Christians, let us now rejoice,
And dance in joyous measure;
That, of good cheer, and with one voice,
We sing in love and pleasure
Of what to us our God hath shown,
And the sweet wonder he hath done:
Full dearly hath he bought it!
Forlorn and lost in death I lay
A captive to the devil;
My sin lay heavy, night and day,
For I was born in evil.
I fell but deeper for my strife
There was no good in all my life,
For sin had all-possessed me.
My good works they were worthless quite,
A mock was all my merit;
My free will hates God's judging light,
To all good dead and buried.
Me to despair my anguish drove,
Down unto death my soul did shove:
I must be plunged in hell-fire!
Then God was sorry on his throne
To see such torment rend me;
His tender mercy he thought on,
And his good help would send me.
He turned to me his father-heart:
Ah, then was His no easy part;
His very best it cost him!
To his dear son he said: Go down;
Things go in piteous fashion;
Go thou, my heart's exalted crown,
Be the poor man's salvation.
Lift him from out sin's scorn and scathe;
Strangle for him that cruel Death,
And take him to live with thee.
The son he heard obediently;
And, by a maiden mother,
Pure, tender--down he came to me,
For he must be my brother!
Concealed he brought his strength enorm,
And went about in my poor form,
Meaning to catch the devil.
He said unto me: Hold by me,
Thy matters I will settle;
I give myself all up for thee,
And I will fight thy battle.
For I am thine, and thou art mine,
And my house also shall be thine;
The enemy shall not part us.
Like water he will shed my blood,
Of life my heart bereaving;
All this I suffer for thy good--
That hold with firm believing;
My Life shall swallow up that Death;
My innocence bears thy sins, He saith,
So henceforth thou art happy.
To heaven unto my Father high,
From this life I am going;
But there thy master still am I,
My spirit on thee bestowing,
Whose comfort shall thy trouble quell,
And teach thy heart to know me well,
Thee into all truth guiding.
What I have done, what I have said,
Thou must go doing, teaching;
That so the kingdom of God may spread,
To His praise all men reaching.
But take heed what men bid thee do--
That will corrupt the treasure true:
With this last word I leave thee. Amen.
The City In Moonlight
by Richard Le Gallienne

Dear city in the moonlight dreaming,
How changed and lovely is your face;
Where is the sordid busy scheming
That filled all day the market-place?
Was it but fancy that a rabble
Of money-changers bought and sold,
Filling with sacrilegious babble
This temple-court of solemn gold?
Ah no, poor captive-slave of Croesus,
His bond-maid all the toiling day,
You, like some hunted child of Jesus,
Steal out beneath the moon to pray.
Love That Lives
by George Parsons Lathrop

Dear face - bright, glinting hair;
Dear life, whose heart is mine - 
The thought of you is prayer,
The love of you divine.
In starlight, or in rain;
In the sunset's shrouded glow;
Ever, with joy or pain,
To you my quick thoughts go
Like winds or clouds, that fleet
Across the hungry space
Between, and find you, sweet,
Where life again wins grace.
Now, as in that once young
Year that so softly drew
My heart to where it clung,
I long for, gladden in you.
And when in the silent hours
I whisper your sacred name,
Like an altar-fire it showers
My blood with fragrant flame!
Perished is all that grieves;
And lo, our old-new joys
Are gathered as in sheaves,
Held in love's equipoise.
Ours is the love that lives;
Its springtime blossoms blow
'Mid the fruit that autumn gives,
And its life outlasts the snow.
To A Young Lady Who Had Been Reproached For Taking Long Walks In The Country
by William Wordsworth

Dear Child of Nature, let them rail!
There is a nest in a green dale,
A harbour and a hold;
Where thou, a Wife and Friend, shalt see
Thy own heart-stirring days, and be
A light to young and old.
There, healthy as a shepherd boy,
And treading among flowers of joy
Which at no season fade,
Thou, while thy babes around thee cling,
Shalt show us how divine a thing
A Woman may be made.
Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die,
Nor leave thee, when grey hairs are nigh,
A melancholy slave;
But an old age serene and bright,
And lovely as a Lapland night,
Shall lead thee to thy grave.