DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
August
by Algernon Charles Swinburne

There were four apples on the bough,
Half gold half red, that one might know
The blood was ripe inside the core;
The colour of the leaves was more
Like stems of yellow corn that grow
Through all the gold June meadow's floor.
The warm smell of the fruit was good
To feed on, and the split green wood,
With all its bearded lips and stains
Of mosses in the cloven veins,
Most pleasant, if one lay or stood
In sunshine or in happy rains.
There were four apples on the tree,
Red stained through gold, that all might see
The sun went warm from core to rind;
The green leaves made the summer blind
In that soft place they kept for me
With golden apples shut behind.
The leaves caught gold across the sun,
And where the bluest air begun,
Thirsted for song to help the heat;
As I to feel my lady's feet
Draw close before the day were done;
Both lips grew dry with dreams of it.
In the mute August afternoon
They trembled to some undertune
Of music in the silver air;
Great pleasure was it to be there
Till green turned duskier and the moon
Coloured the corn-sheaves like gold hair.
That August time it was delight
To watch the red moons wane to white
'Twixt grey seamed stems of apple-trees;
A sense of heavy harmonies
Grew on the growth of patient night,
More sweet than shapen music is.
But some three hours before the moon
The air, still eager from the noon,
Flagged after heat, not wholly dead;
Against the stem I leant my head;
The colour soothed me like a tune,
Green leaves all round the gold and red.
I lay there till the warm smell grew
More sharp, when flecks of yellow dew
Between the round ripe leaves had blurred
The rind with stain and wet; I heard
A wind that blew and breathed and blew,
Too weak to alter its one word.
The wet leaves next the gentle fruit
Felt smoother, and the brown tree-root
Felt the mould warmer: I too felt
(As water feels the slow gold melt
Right through it when the day burns mute)
The peace of time wherein love dwelt.
There were four apples on the tree,
Gold stained on red that all might see
The sweet blood filled them to the core:
The colour of her hair is more
Like stems of fair faint gold, that be
Mown from the harvest's middle floor.
The Three Hills
by John Collings Squire, Sir

There were three hills that stood alone
With woods about their feet.
They dreamed quiet when the sun shone
And whispered when the rain beat.
They wore all three their coronals
Till men with houses came
And scored their heads with pits and walls
And thought the hills were tame.
Red and white when day shines bright
They hide the green for miles,
Where are the old hills gone?    At night
The moon looks down and smiles.
She sees the captors small and weak,
She knows the prisoners strong,
She hears the patient hills that speak:
"Brothers, it is not long;
"Brothers, we stood when they were not
Ten thousand summers past.
Brothers, when they are clean forgot
We shall outlive the last;
"One shall die and one shall flee
With terror in his train,
And earth shall eat the stones, and we
Shall be alone again."
The Outlyer Bold
by Frank Sidgwick

The Text is taken from Motherwell's MS., which contains two versions; Motherwell printed a third in his Minstrelsy,--Babylon; or, The Bonnie Banks o' Fordie. Kinloch called the ballad the Duke of Perth's Three Daughters. As the following text has no title, I have ventured to give it one. 'Outlyer' is, of course, simply 'a banished man.'
The Story is much more familiar in all the branches of the Scandinavian race than in England or Scotland. In Denmark it appears as Herr Truels' Daughters or Herr Thor's Children; in Sweden as Herr Tor's' Daughters. Iceland and Faroe give the name as Torkild or Thorkell.
The incidents related in this ballad took place (i) in Scotland on the bonnie banks o' Fordie, near Dunkeld; (ii) in Sweden in five or six different places; and (iii) in eight different localities in Denmark.
THE OUTLYER BOLD
1.
There were three sisters, they lived in a bower,
Sing Anna, sing Margaret, sing Marjorie
The youngest o' them was the fairest flower.
And the dew goes thro' the wood, gay ladie
2.
The oldest of them she's to the wood gane,
To seek a braw leaf and to bring it hame.
3.
There she met with an outlyer bold,
Lies many long nights in the woods so cold.
4.
'Istow a maid, or istow a wife?
Wiltow twinn with thy maidenhead, or thy sweet life?'
5.
'O kind sir, if I hae't at my will,
I'll twinn with my life, keep my maidenhead still.'
6.
He's taen out his wee pen-knife,
He's twinned this young lady of her sweet life.
7.
He wiped his knife along the dew;
But the more he wiped, the redder it grew.
8.
The second of them she's to the wood gane,
To seek her old sister, and to bring her hame.
9.
There she met with an outlyer bold,
Lies many long nights in the woods so cold.
10.
'Istow a maid, or istow a wife?
Wiltow twinn with thy maidenhead, or thy sweet life?'
11.
'O kind sir, if I hae't at my will,
I'll twinn with my life, keep my maidenhead still.'
12.
He's taen out his wee pen-knife,
He's twinned this young lady of her sweet life.
13.
He wiped his knife along the dew;
But the more he wiped, the redder it grew.
14.
The youngest o' them she's to the wood gane,
To seek her two sisters, and to bring them hame.
15.
There she met with an outlyer bold,
Lies many long nights in the woods so cold.
16.
'Istow a maid, or istow a wife?
Wiltow twinn with thy maidenhead, or thy sweet life?'
17.
'If my three brethren they were here,
Such questions as these thou durst nae speer.'
18.
'Pray, what may thy three brethren be,
That I durst na mak' so bold with thee?'
19.
'The eldest o' them is a minister bred,
He teaches the people from evil to good.
20.
'The second o' them is a ploughman good,
He ploughs the land for his livelihood.
21.
'The youngest of them is an outlyer bold,
Lies many a long night in the woods so cold.'
22.
He stuck his knife then into the ground,
He took a long race, let himself fall on.
Valentines - I. To Mistress Barbara
by Eugene Field

There were three cavaliers, all handsome and true,
On Valentine's day came a maiden to woo,
And quoth to your mother: "Good-morrow, my dear,
We came with some songs for your daughter to hear!"
Your mother replied: "I'll be pleased to convey
To my daughter what things you may sing or may say!"
Then the first cavalier sung: "My pretty red rose,
I'll love you and court you some day, I suppose!"
And the next cavalier sung, with make-believe tears:
"I've loved you! I've loved you these many long years!"
But the third cavalier (with the brown, bushy head
And the pretty blue jacket and necktie of red)
He drew himself up with a resolute air,
And he warbled: "O maiden, surpassingly fair!
I've loved you long years, and I love you to-day,
And, if you will let me, I'll love you for aye!"
I (the third cavalier) sang this ditty to you,
In my necktie of red and my jacket of blue;
I'm sure you'll prefer the song that was mine
And smile your approval on your valentine.
The Three Kings Of Chickeraboo
by William Schwenck Gilbert

There were three niggers of Chickeraboo 
Pacifico, Bang-Bang, Popchop who
Exclaimed, one terribly sultry day,
"Oh, let's be kings in a humble way."
The first was a highly-accomplished "bones,"
The next elicited banjo tones,
The third was a quiet, retiring chap,
Who danced an excellent break-down "flap."
"We niggers," said they, "have formed a plan
By which, whenever we like, we can
Extemporize islands near the beach,
And then we'll collar an island each.
"Three casks, from somebody else's stores,
Shall rep-per-esent our island shores,
Their sides the ocean wide shall lave,
Their heads just topping the briny wave.
"Great Britain's navy scours the sea,
And everywhere her ships they be,
She'll recognize our rank, perhaps,
When she discovers we're Royal Chaps.
"If to her skirts you want to cling,
It's quite sufficient that you're a king:
She does not push inquiry far
To learn what sort of king you are."
A ship of several thousand tons,
And mounting seventy-something guns,
Ploughed, every year, the ocean blue,
Discovering kings and countries new.
The brave Rear-Admiral Bailey Pip,
Commanding that superior ship,
Perceived one day, his glasses through,
The kings that came from Chickeraboo.
"Dear eyes!" said Admiral Pip, "I see
Three flourishing islands on our lee.
And, bless me! most extror'nary thing!
On every island stands a king!
"Come, lower the Admiral's gig," he cried,
"And over the dancing waves I'll glide;
That low obeisance I may do
To those three kings of Chickeraboo!"
The admiral pulled to the islands three;
The kings saluted him graciouslee.
The admiral, pleased at his welcome warm,
Pulled out a printed Alliance form.
"Your Majesty, sign me this, I pray 
I come in a friendly kind of way 
I come, if you please, with the best intents,
And Queen Victoria's compliments."
The kings were pleased as they well could be;
The most retiring of all the three,
In a "cellar-flap" to his joy gave vent
With a banjo-bones accompaniment.
The great Rear-Admiral Bailey Pip
Embarked on board his jolly big ship,
Blue Peter flew from his lofty fore,
And off he sailed to his native shore.
Admiral Pip directly went
To the Lord at the head of the Government,
Who made him, by a stroke of a quill,
Baron de Pippe, of Pippetonneville.
The College of Heralds permission yield
That he should quarter upon his shield
Three islands, vert, on a field of blue,
With the pregnant motto "Chickeraboo."
Ambassadors, yes, and attaches, too,
Are going to sail for Chickeraboo,
And, see, on the good ship's crowded deck,
A bishop, who's going out there on spec.
And let us all hope that blissful things
May come of alliance with darkey kings.
Oh, may we never, whatever we do,
Declare a war with Chickeraboo!
The Honey Robbers
by Walter De La Mare

There were two Fairies, Gimmul and Mel,
Loved Earth Man's honey passing well;
Oft at the hives of his tame bees
They would their sugary thirst appease.
When even began to darken to night,
They would hie along in the fading light,
With elf-locked hair and scarlet lips,
And small stone knives to slit the skeps,
So softly not a bee inside
Should hear the woven straw divide.
And then with sly and greedy thumbs
Would rifle the sweet honeycombs.
And drowsily drone to drone would say,
"A cold, cold wind blows in this way";
And the great Queen would turn her head
From face to face, astonish'd,
And, though her maids with comb and brush
Would comb and soothe and whisper, "Hush!"
About the hive would shrilly go
A keening - keening, to and fro;
At which those robbers 'neath the trees
Would taunt and mock the honey-bees,
And through their sticky teeth would buzz
Just as an angry hornet does.
And when this Gimmul and this Mel
Had munched and sucked and swilled their fill,
Or ever Man's first cock could crow
Back to their Fa'rie Mounds they'd go.
Edging across the twilight air,
Thieves of a guise remotely fair.
At Galway Races
by William Butler Yeats

There where the course is,
Delight makes all of the one mind,
The riders upon the galloping horses,
The crowd that closes in behind:
We, too, had good attendance once,
Hearers and hearteners of the work;
Aye, horsemen for companions,
Before the merchant and the clerk
Breathed on the world with timid breath.
Sing on: sometime, and at some new moon,
We'll learn that sleeping is not death,
Hearing the whole earth change its tune,
Its flesh being wild, and it again
Crying aloud as the race course is,
And we find hearteners among men
That ride upon horses.
Remembrance
by George William Russell

There were many burning hours on the heart-sweet tide,
And we passed away from ourselves, forgetting all
The immortal moods that faded, the god who died,
Hastening away to the King on a distant call.
There were ruby dews were shed when the heart was riven,
And passionate pleading and prayers to the dead we had wronged;
And we passed away unremembering and unforgiven,
Hastening away to the King for the peace we longed.
Love unremembered and heart-ache we left behind,
We forsook them, unheeding, hastening away in our flight;
We knew the hearts we had wronged of old we would find
When we came to the fold of the King for rest in the night.
The Outside Track
by Henry Lawson

There were ten of us there on the moonlit quay,
And one on the for'ard hatch;
No straighter mate to his mates than he
Had ever said: 'Len's a match!'
"'Twill be long, old man, ere our glasses clink,
'Twill be long ere we grip your hand!",
And we dragged him ashore for a final drink
Till the whole wide world seemed grand.
For they marry and go as the world rolls back,
They marry and vanish and die;
But their spirit shall live on the Outside Track
As long as the years go by.
The port-lights glowed in the morning mist
That rolled from the waters green;
And over the railing we grasped his fist
As the dark tide came between.
We cheered the captain and cheered the crew,
And our mate, times out of mind;
We cheered the land he was going to
And the land he had left behind.
We roared Lang Syne as a last farewell,
But my heart seemed out of joint;
I well remember the hush that fell
When the steamer had passed the point
We drifted home through the public bars,
We were ten times less by one
Who sailed out under the morning stars,
And under the rising sun.
And one by one, and two by two,
They have sailed from the wharf since then;
I have said good-bye to the last I knew,
The last of the careless men.
And I can't but think that the times we had
Were the best times after all,
As I turn aside with a lonely glass
And drink to the bar-room wall.
But I'll try my luck for a cheque Out Back,
Then a last good-bye to the bush;
For my heart's away on the Outside Track,
On the track of the steerage push.
The Five Carlins. A Scots Ballad.
by Robert Burns

Tune - Chevy Chase.
There were five carlins in the south,
They fell upon a scheme,
To send a lad to London town,
To bring them tidings hame.
Not only bring them tidings hame,
But do their errands there;
And aiblins gowd and honour baith
Might be that laddie's share.
There was Maggy by the banks o' Nith,
A dame wi' pride eneugh;
And Marjory o' the mony lochs,
A carlin auld and teugh.
And blinkin' Bess of Annandale,
That dwelt near Solway-side;
And whiskey Jean, that took her gill
In Galloway sae wide.
And black Joan, frae Crighton-peel,
O' gipsey kith an' kin;
Five wighter carlins were na found
The south countrie within.
To send a lad to London town,
They met upon a day;
And mony a knight, and mony a laird,
This errand fain wad gae.
O mony a knight, and mony a laird,
This errand fain wad gae;
But nae ane could their fancy please,
O ne'er a ane but twae.
The first ane was a belted knight,
Bred of a border band;
And he wad gae to London town,
Might nae man him withstand.
And he wad do their errands weel,
And meikle he wad say;
And ilka ane about the court
Wad bid to him gude-day.
The neist cam in a sodger youth,
And spak wi' modest grace,
And he wad gae to London town,
If sae their pleasure was.
He wad na hecht them courtly gifts,
Nor meikle speech pretend;
But he wad hecht an honest heart,
Wad ne'er desert his friend.
Then wham to chuse, and wham refuse,
At strife thir carlins fell;
For some had gentlefolks to please,
And some wad please themsel'.
Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith,
And she spak up wi' pride,
And she wad send the sodger youth,
Whatever might betide.
For the auld gudeman o' London court
She didna care a pin;
But she wad send the sodger youth
To greet his eldest son.
Then slow raise Marjory o' the Lochs
And wrinkled was her brow;
Her ancient weed was russet gray,
Her auld Scotch heart was true.
"The London court set light by me,
I set as light by them;
And I wilt send the sodger lad
To shaw that court the same."
Then up sprang Bess of Annandale,
And swore a deadly aith,
Says, "I will send the border-knight
Spite o' you carlins baith.
"For far-off fowls hae feathers fair,
And fools o' change are fain;
But I hae try'd this border-knight,
I'll try him yet again."
Then whiskey Jean spak o'er her drink,
"Ye weel ken, kimmersa',
The auld gudeman o' London court,
His back's been at the wa'.
"And mony a friend that kiss'd his caup,
Is now a fremit wight;
But it's ne'er be sae wi' whiskey Jean,
We'll send the border-knight."
Says black Joan o' Crighton-peel,
A carlin stoor and grim,
"The auld gudeman, or the young gudeman,
For me may sink or swim.
"For fools will prate o' right and wrang,
While knaves laugh in their sleeve;
But wha blaws best the horn shall win,
I'll spier nae courtier's leave."
So how this mighty plea may end
There's naebody can tell:
God grant the king, and ilka man,
May look weel to himsel'!
Sonnets on the Discovery of Botany Bay by Captain Cook - II - The Second Attempt, Opposed by Two of the Natives
by Henry Kendall

'There were but two, and we were forty! Yet,'
The Captain wrote, 'that dauntless couple throve,
And faced our wildering faces; and I said
'Lie to awhile!' I did not choose to let
A strife go on of little worth to us.
And so unequal! But the dying tread
Of flying kinsmen moved them not: for wet
With surf and wild with streaks of white and black
The pair remained.'    O stout Caractacus!
'Twas thus you stood when Caesar's legions strove
To beat their few, fantastic foemen back
Your patriots with their savage stripes of red!
To drench the stormy cliff and moaning cove
With faithful blood, as pure as any ever shed.
The Three Cherry Trees
by Walter De La Mare

There were three cherry trees once,
Grew in a garden all shady;
And there for delight of so gladsome a sight,
Walked a most beautiful lady,
Dreamed a most beautiful lady.
Birds in those branches did sing,
Blackbird and throstle and linnet,
But she walking there was by far the most fair - 
Lovelier than all else within it,
Blackbird and throstle and linnet.
But blossoms to berries do come,
All hanging on stalks light and slender,
And one long summer's day charmed that lady away,
With vows sweet and merry and tender;
A lover with voice low and tender.
Moss and lichen the green branches deck;
Weeds nod in its paths green and shady:
Yet a light footstep seems there to wander in dreams,
The ghost of that beautiful lady,
That happy and beautiful lady.
Nursery Rhyme. CCCV. Games.
by Unknown

There were two blackbirds,
Sitting on a hill,
The one nam'd Jack,
The other nam'd Jill;
Fly away Jack!
Fly away Jill!
Come again Jack!
Come again Jill!
The Mother
by Robert William Service

There will be a singing in your heart,
There will be a rapture in your eyes;
You will be a woman set apart,
You will be so wonderful and wise.
You will sleep, and when from dreams you start,
As of one that wakes in Paradise,
There will be a singing in your heart,
There will be a rapture in your eyes.
There will be a moaning in your heart,
There will be an anguish in your eyes;
You will see your dearest ones depart,
You will hear their quivering good-byes.
Yours will be the heart-ache and the smart,
Tears that scald and lonely sacrifice;
There will be a moaning in your heart,
There will be an anguish in your eyes.
There will come a glory in your eyes,
There will come a peace within your heart;
Sitting 'neath the quiet evening skies,
Time will dry the tear and dull the smart.
You will know that you have played your part;
Yours shall be the love that never dies:
You, with Heaven's peace within your heart,
You, with God's own glory in your eyes.
Cud
by Paul Cameron Brown

There were a series
of three animals
- wise men I propose - 
interchangeably looking
(throwing off their guises'
as non-sentient brutes),
scrounging the grass
(eyes foddering me)
chewing on looks,
cud-like,
-one a black
goat shorn of
his devil look
and a burro,
mood entranced, in
armour of mangey velvet.
II
Swinging bells,
making me believe
the twilight caper
that morning lay
more in reindeer's
breath than any
solidarity with
oat or hoove.
III
A strange lot,
they'd ramrod their
gaze with blare
of lightning,
peering into some
primordial instinct
one normally tucks
onto a sleeve or
cranny when thunder strikes.
IV
Pelting rain,
the white mare,
streaked more like
a camel with her
own dung and manure,
(shadings differ)
the sun a tingling dew
refreshing cantaloupes;
the sparkle of their walk
investigating me
in solid cacophony of faith.
V
A form of worship, to be exact,
the Christ-child
in a manger
we four in shared trance
a growing sluggishness
to their fear building
by prospect of food
and inter-species bond.
John Barleycorn: A Ballad.
by Robert Burns

I.
There were three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high;
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
II.
They took a plough and plough'd him down,
Put clods upon his head;
And they ha'e sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
III.
But the cheerful spring came kindly on,
And show'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris'd them all.
IV.
The sultry suns of summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears
That no one should him wrong.
V.
The sober autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His beading joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.
VI.
His colour sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
VII.
They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then ty'd him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.
VIII.
They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm.
And turn'd him o'er and o'er.
IX.
They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.
X.
They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe;
And still, as signs of life appear'd,
They toss'd him to and fro.
XI.
They wasted o'er a scorching flame
The marrow of his bones;
But a miller us'd him worst of all,
He crush'd him 'tween the stones.
XII.
And they ha'e ta'en his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.
XIII.
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise.
XIV.
'Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all his joy:
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Tho' the tear were in her eye.
XV.
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!