DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
Theirs
by John Greenleaf Whittier

I.
Fate summoned, in gray-bearded age, to act
A history stranger than his written fact,
Him who portrayed the splendor and the gloom
Of that great hour when throne and altar fell
With long death-groan which still is audible.
He, when around the walls of Paris rung
The Prussian bugle like the blast of doom,
And every ill which follows unblest war
Maddened all France from Finistere to Var,
The weight of fourscore from his shoulders flung,
And guided Freedom in the path he saw
Lead out of chaos into light and law,
Peace, not imperial, but republican,
And order pledged to all the Rights of Man.
II.
Death called him from a need as imminent
As that from which the Silent William went
When powers of evil, like the smiting seas
On Holland's dikes, assailed her liberties.
Sadly, while yet in doubtful balance hung
The weal and woe of France, the bells were rung
For her lost leader. Paralyzed of will,
Above his bier the hearts of men stood still.
Then, as if set to his dead lips, the horn
Of Roland wound once more to rouse and warn,
The old voice filled the air! His last brave word
Not vainly France to all her boundaries stirred.
Strong as in life, he still for Freedom wrought,
As the dead Cid at red Toloso fought.
The Last Farewell
by Ralph Waldo Emerson

LINES WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR'S BROTHER, EDWARD BLISS EMERSON, WHILST SAILING OUT OF BOSTON HARBOR, BOUND FOR THE ISLAND OF PORTO RICO, IN 1832
Farewell, ye lofty spires
That cheered the holy light!
Farewell, domestic fires
That broke the gloom of night!
Too soon those spires are lost,
Too fast we leave the bay,
Too soon by ocean tost
From hearth and home away,
Far away, far away.
Farewell the busy town,
The wealthy and the wise,
Kind smile and honest frown
From bright, familiar eyes.
All these are fading now;
Our brig hastes on her way,
Her unremembering prow
Is leaping o'er the sea,
Far away, far away.
Farewell, my mother fond,
Too kind, too good to me;
Nor pearl nor diamond
Would pay my debt to thee.
But even thy kiss denies
Upon my cheek to stay;
The winged vessel flies,
And billows round her play,
Far away, far away.
Farewell, my brothers true,
My betters, yet my peers;
How desert without you
My few and evil years!
But though aye one in heart,
Together sad or gay,
Rude ocean doth us part;
We separate to-day,
Far away, far away.
Farewell, thou fairest one,
Unplighted yet to me,
Uncertain of thine own
I gave my heart to thee.
That untold early love
I leave untold to-day,
My lips in whisper move
Farewell to ...!
Far away, far away.
Farewell I breathe again
To dim New England's shore,
My heart shall beat not when
I pant for thee no more.
In yon green palmy isle,
Beneath the tropic ray,
I murmur never while
For thee and thine I pray;
Far away, far away.
Universal Prayer
by Alexander Pope

Father of all! In every age,
In ev'ry clime ador'd,
By saint, by savage, and by sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!
Thou Great First Cause, least understood,
Who all my sense confin'd
To know but this, that Thou art good,
And that myself am blind:
Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;
And, binding Nature fast in Fate,
Left free the human Will.
What Conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do;
This teach me more than Hell to shun,
That more than Heav'n pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives
Let me not cast away;
For God is paid when man receives;
T' enjoy is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound,
Or think thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand worlds are round.
Let not this weak, unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw,
And teach damnation round the land
On each I judge thy foe.
If I am right, thy grace impart,
Still in the right to stay;
If I am wrong, O teach my heart
To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish Pride
Or impious Discontent,
At aught thy wisdom has denied,
Or aught that goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe,
To right the fault I see:
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
Mean tho' I am, not wholly so,
Since quicken'd by thy breath;
O lead me whereso'er I go,
Thro' this day's life or death!
This day be bread and peace my lot:
All else beneath the sun
Though know'st if best bestow'd or not,
And let Thy will be done.
To Thee, whose temple is of Space,
Whose altar earth, sea, skies,
One chorus let all Beings raise!
All Nature's incense rise!
A Parting Hymn.
by Pamela S. Vining, (J. C. Yule)

Father in Heaven, to thee,
Guardian and friend,
Lowly the suppliant knee
Here would we bend! - 
Blessing thee ere we part,
Each with a grateful heart,
For all thy love doth send - 
Plenteous and free!
Thanks for thy hand outspread
Ever in power
O'er each defenceless head
In danger's hour!
Thanks for the light arid love,
From thy full fount above - 
A rich and constant shower,
O'er us still shed!
Go thou with us, we pray,
Whom duties call
To our high tasks away,
Each one, and all, - 
Go, with thy Spirit's might,
Go, with thy Gospel's light
- Whatever may befall - 
With us alway
Now let thy blessing rest
On us anew - 
Brother, and friend, and guest,
Tried ones and true - 
Till, all Our pirtings o'er,
Meeting, to part no more,
In Heaven we renew
Friendships so blest
My Cricket.
by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Farther in summer than the birds,
Pathetic from the grass,
A minor nation celebrates
Its unobtrusive mass.
No ordinance is seen,
So gradual the grace,
A pensive custom it becomes,
Enlarging loneliness.
Antiquest felt at noon
When August, burning low,
Calls forth this spectral canticle,
Repose to typify.
Remit as yet no grace,
No furrow on the glow,
Yet a druidic difference
Enhances nature now.
He Gives His Beloved Certain Rhymes
by William Butler Yeats

Fasten your hair with a golden pin,
And bind up every wandering tress;
I bade my heart build these poor rhymes:
It worked at them, day out, day in,
Building a sorrowful loveliness
Out of the battles of old times.
You need but lift a pearl-pale hand,
And bind up your long hair and sigh;
And all men's hearts must burn and beat;
And candle-like foam on the dim sand,
And stars climbing the dew-dropping sky,
Live but to light your passing feet.
Fast Anchor'd, Eternal, O Love
by Walt Whitman

Fast-anchor'd, eternal, O love! O woman I love!
O bride! O wife! more resistless than I can tell, the thought of you!
Then separate, as disembodied, or another born,
Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation;
I ascend--I float in the regions of your love, O man,
O sharer of my roving life.
Farewell, Thou Stream.
by Robert Burns

Air - "Nancy's to the greenwood gane."
I.
Farewell, thou stream that winding flows
Around Eliza's dwelling!
O mem'ry! spare the cruel throes
Within my bosom swelling:
Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain,
And yet in secret languish,
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein,
Nor dare disclose my anguish.
II.
Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown,
I fain my griefs would cover;
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan,
Betray the hapless lover.
I know thou doom'st me to despair,
Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me;
But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer - 
For pity's sake forgive me!
III.
The music of thy voice I heard,
Nor wist while it enslav'd me;
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,
'Till fears no more had sav'd me:
The unwary sailor thus aghast,
The wheeling torrent viewing;
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last
In overwhelming ruin.
Jest 'Fore Christmas
by Eugene Field

Father calls me William, sister calls me Will,
Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill!
Mighty glad I ain't a girl - ruther be a boy,
Without them sashes, curls, an' things that's worn by Fauntleroy!
Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake -
Hate to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache!
'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me,
But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!
Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat;
First thing she knows she doesn't know where she is at!
Got a clipper sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide,
'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride!
But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an' cross,
He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss,
An' then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!"
But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!
Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man,
I'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan,
As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle,
Where every prospeck pleases, an' only man is vile!
But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show,
Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd know
That Buff'lo Bill an' cow-boys is good enough for me!
Excep' jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be!
And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemn-like an' still,
His eyes they seem a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?"
The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's become
Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum!
But I am so perlite an' 'tend so earnestly to biz,
That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!"
But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me
When, jest 'fore Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be!
For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes, an' toys,
Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty boys;
So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's and q's,
An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, and don't wear out yer shoes;
Say "Yessum" to the ladies, an' "Yessur" to the men,
An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again;
But, thinkin' of the things yer'd like to see upon that tree,
Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be!
A Mother's Lament For The Death Of Her Son.
by Robert Burns

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped,
And pierc'd my darling's heart;
And with him all the joys are fled
Life can to me impart.
By cruel hands the sapling drops,
In dust dishonour'd laid:
So fell the pride of all my hopes,
My age's future shade.
The mother-linnet in the brake
Bewails her ravish'd young;
So I, for my lost darling's sake,
Lament the live day long.
Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow,
Now, fond I bare my breast,
O, do thou kindly lay me low
With him I love, at rest!
Macpherson's Farewell.
by Robert Burns

Tune - "M'Pherson's Rant."
I.
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong,
The wretch's destinie!
Macpherson's time will not be long
On yonder gallows-tree.
Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gaed he;
He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round,
Below the gallows-tree.
II.
Oh, what is death but parting breath?
On many a bloody plain
I've dar'd his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!
III.
Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword;
And there's no a man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at a word.
IV.
I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife;
I die by treacherie:
It burns my heart I must depart,
And not avenged be.
V.
Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright,
And all beneath the sky!
May coward shame distain his name,
The wretch that dares not die!
Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gaed he;
He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round,
Below the gallows-tree.
We And They
by Rudyard Kipling

Father and Mother, and Me,
Sister and Auntie say
All the people like us are We,
And every one else is They.
And They live over the sea,
While We live over the way,
But-would you believe it? They look upon We
As only a sort of They!
We eat pork and beef
With cow-horn-handled knives.
They who gobble Their rice off a leaf,
Are horrified out of Their lives;
While they who live up a tree,
And feast on grubs and clay,
(Isn't it scandalous?) look upon We
As a simply disgusting They!
We shoot birds with a gun.
They stick lions with spears.
Their full-dress is un.
We dress up to Our ears.
They like Their friends for tea.
We like Our friends to stay;
And, after all that, They look upon We
As an utterly ignorant They!
We eat kitcheny food.
We have doors that latch.
They drink milk or blood,
Under an open thatch.
We have Doctors to fee.
They have Wizards to pay.
And (impudent heathen!) They look upon We
As a quite impossible They!
All good people agree,
And all good people say,
All nice people, like Us, are We
And every one else is They:
But if you cross over the sea,
Instead of over the way,
You may end by (think of it!) looking on We
As only a sort of They!
To Fashion
by Oliver Herford

Fashion! Lovely Dame!
Pledge in sparkling wine!
Let us add her name
To the Muses' nine!
Though the lovely Nin
All should pass away
Why should Woman pine,
If but Fashion stay?
Tho' the Muses' lore
Molder on the shelf,
Still may She adore
In Fashion's glass--Herself.
Father Of Universal Man
by Joseph Horatio Chant

Father of Universal Man,
Where'er in this wide world he roam,
Not known to thee by kith or clan,
Nor height, nor breadth of mental dome,
Nor babbling tongue, nor sounding creed,
But by his woe and common need.
The pushing Anglo-Saxon race,
The Celts with wealth of heart and mind,
The Esquimaux of leaden face,
The Arabs whom no chain can bind,
With hardy Boers and all the rest,
Are with one common Father blest.
And all are brothers, though at times
Our flashing swords obscure the sun.
We ring aloud our Christmas chimes,
But louder sounds the booming gun,
And brother is by brother slain,
And kindred ties are rent in twain.
Yet Thou art true whate'er betide;
Thy heart o'er human woe doth melt;
For men of every race Christ died,
And, as a zone, Thy love would belt
All human kind from pole to pole
Into one grand, harmonious whole.
Men war with men in every clime,
Commotions rock this earthly ball;
Our souls are covered o'er with grime--
Sad fruits of our Adamic fall,
But grace shall triumph in the end,
And good the evil far transcend.
Thy throne remains forever firm,
And here, amidst the strife of men,
We find with joy a heavenly germ
Which shall re-stock this world again
With fruitful plants of righteousness,
If Thou, O God, but deign to bless.
Help us that we may not deny
Our brotherhood in hour of strife;
When swords shall from their scabbards fly,
And great the sacrifice of life,
May we in pity o'er them bend,
And help to wounded foe extend.
If we are working out Thy plan,
Give our brave soldiers arms of steel,
And may each prove himself a man--
To God and to his nation leal,
And never falter in the fight,
But die, if need be, for the right.
May right prevail in this dread war,
Though we be humbled in the dust;
To fail our end is better far
Then gain it, if it be unjust,
But if our aims with Thine agree--
We trust--and leave results with Thee.
The world moves on; let none essay
To block it in its onward course,
Lest they like chaff be swept away
As by a supernatural force;
For laggards progress does not wait--
Keep pace with time or bide your fate.
May our brave foes rise in defeat
To higher form of liberty;
And Freedom's flag, as seemeth meet,
Wave over all from sea to sea;
Pushed on as by the hand of fate
To nationhood, both firm and great.
Reward
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Fate used me meanly; but I looked at her and laughed,
That none might know how bitter was the cup I quaffed.
Along came Joy, and paused beside me where I sat,
Saying, 'I came to see what you were laughing at.'
The Prayer Of Nature. [1]
by George Gordon Byron

1
Father of Light! great God of Heaven!
Hear'st thou the accents of despair?
Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven?
Can vice atone for crimes by prayer?
2
Father of Light, on thee I call!
Thou see'st my soul is dark within;
Thou, who canst mark the sparrow's fall,
Avert from me the death of sin.
3
No shrine I seek, to sects unknown;
Oh, point to me the path of truth!
Thy dread Omnipotence I own;
Spare, yet amend, the faults of youth.
4
Let bigots rear a gloomy fane,
Let Superstition hail the pile,
Let priests, to spread their sable reign,
With tales of mystic rites beguile.
5
Shall man confine his Maker's sway
To Gothic domes of mouldering stone?
Thy temple is the face of day;
Earth, Ocean, Heaven thy boundless throne.
6
Shall man condemn his race to Hell,
Unless they bend in pompous form?
Tell us that all, for one who fell,
Must perish in the mingling storm?
7
Shall each pretend to reach the skies,
Yet doom his brother to expire,
Whose soul a different hope supplies,
Or doctrines less severe inspire?
8
Shall these, by creeds they can't expound,
Prepare a fancied bliss or woe?
Shall reptiles, groveling on the ground,
Their great Creator's purpose know?
9
Shall those, who live for self alone, 
Whose years float on in daily crime - 
Shall they, by Faith, for guilt atone,
And live beyond the bounds of Time?
10
Father! no prophet's laws I seek, - 
Thy laws in Nature's works appear; - 
I own myself corrupt and weak,
Yet will I pray, for thou wilt hear!
11
Thou, who canst guide the wandering star,
Through trackless realms of aether's space;
Who calm'st the elemental war,
Whose hand from pole to pole I trace:
12
Thou, who in wisdom plac'd me here,
Who, when thou wilt, canst take me hence,
Ah! whilst I tread this earthly sphere,
Extend to me thy wide defence.
13
To Thee, my God, to thee I call!
Whatever weal or woe betide,
By thy command I rise or fall,
In thy protection I confide.
14.
If, when this dust to dust's restor'd,
My soul shall float on airy wing,
How shall thy glorious Name ador'd
Inspire her feeble voice to sing!
15
But, if this fleeting spirit share
With clay the Grave's eternal bed,
While Life yet throbs I raise my prayer,
Though doom'd no more to quit the dead.
16
To Thee I breathe my humble strain,
Grateful for all thy mercies past,
And hope, my God, to thee again 
This erring life may fly at last.
A Man.
by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Fate slew him, but he did not drop;
She felled -- he did not fall --
Impaled him on her fiercest stakes --
He neutralized them all.
She stung him, sapped his firm advance,
But, when her worst was done,
And he, unmoved, regarded her,
Acknowledged him a man.
Our Father.
by W. M. MacKeracher

Father! How precious is that name to me!
Name rendered sacred e'en by earthly ties,
How full of vaster meaning when applied
To Him high-dwelling in the heavenly home!
How much of love it whispers to the soul! -
Of that true, pure, and unimpassioned love -
That lasting love which father bears to son!
It speaks of kindly interest, fond regard,
And anxious care, the offspring of that love.
Its sound assures of guidance in the right,
Of readiness to guard from what is ill,
Of willingness to grant supporting aid,
Of gracious blessings and of bounteous gifts.
And then, unlike a father here below,
The heavenly Father's favour and his help
Are unrestricted in their exercise -
His store unbounded, power infinite.
And while an earthly parent soon must go,
He ever lives and ever is the same.
House-Building And Repairs.
by Juliana Horatia Ewing

Father is building a new house, but I've had one given to me for my own;
Brick red, with a white window, and black where it ought to be glass, and the chimney yellow, like stone.
Brother Bill made me the shelves with his tool-box, and the table I had before, and the pestle-and-mortar;
And Mother gave me the jam-pot when it was empty; it's rather big, but it's the only pot we have that will really hold water.
We--that is I and Jemima, my doll. (For it's a Doll's House, you know,
Though some of the things are real, like the nutmeg-grater, but not the wooden plates that stand in a row.
They came out of a box of toy tea-things, and I can't think what became of the others;
But one never can tell what becomes of anything when one has brothers.)
Jemima is much smaller than I am, and, being made of wood, she is thin;
She takes up too much room inside, but she can lie outside on the roof without breaking it in.
I wish I had a drawing-room to put her in when I want to really cook;
I have to have the kitchen-table outside as it is, and the pestle-and-mortar is rather too heavy for it, and everybody can look.
There's no front door to the house, because there's no front to have a door in, and beside,
If there were, I couldn't play with anything, for I shouldn't know how to get inside.
I never heard of a house with only one room, except the cobbler's, and his was a stall.
I don't quite know what that is; but it isn't a house, and it served him for parlour and kitchen and all.
Father says that whilst he is about it, he thinks he shall add on a wing;
And brother Bill says he'll nail my Doll's House on the top of an old tea-chest, which will come to the same thing.
*             *             *             *             *
Father's house is not finished, though the wing is; for now the builder says it will be all wrong if there isn't another to match;
And my house isn't done either, though it's nailed on, for Bill took off the roof to make a new one of thatch.
The paint is very much scratched, but he says that's nothing, for it must have had a new coat;
And he means to paint it for me, inside and out, when he paints his own boat.
There's a sad hole in the floor, but Bill says the wood is as rotten as rotten can be:
Which was why he made such a mess of the side with trying to put real glass in the window, through which one can see.
Bill says he believes that the shortest plan would be to make a new Doll's House with proper rooms, in the regular way;
Which was what the builder said to Father when he wanted to build in the old front; and to-day
I heard him tell him the old materials were no good to use and weren't worth the expense of carting away.
I don't know when I shall be able to play at dolls again, for all the things are put away in a box;
Except Jemima and the pestle-and-mortar, and they're in the bottom drawer with my Sunday frocks.
I almost wish I had kept the house as it was before;
We managed very well with a painted window and without a front door.
I don't know what Father means to do with his house, but if ever mine is finished, I'll never have it altered any more.
The Usurer.
by Jean Blewett

Fate says, and flaunts her stores of gold,
"I'll loan you happiness untold.
What is it you desire of me?"
A perfect hour in which to be
In love with life, and glad, and good,
The bliss of being understood,
Amid life's cares a little space
To feast your eyes upon a face,
The whispered word, the love-filled tone,
The warmth of lips that meet your own,
To-day of Fate you borrow;
In hunger of the heart, and pain,
In loneliness, and longing vain,
You pay the debt to-morrow!
Prince, let grim Fate take what she will
Of treasures rare, of joys that thrill,
Enact the cruel usurer's part,
Leave empty arms and hungry heart,
Take what she can of love and trust,
Take all life's gladness, if she must,
Take meeting smile and parting kiss - 
The benediction and the bliss.
What then? The fairest thing of all
Is ours, O Prince, beyond recall - 
Not even Fate would dare to seize
Our store of golden memories.
Parting Hymn - "Dundee"
by Oliver Wendell Holmes

Father of Mercies, Heavenly Friend,
We seek thy gracious throne;
To Thee our faltering prayers ascend,
Our fainting hearts are known.
From blasts that chill, from suns that smite,
From every plague that harms;
In camp and march, in siege and fight,
Protect our men-at-arms.
Though from our darkened lives they take
What makes our life most dear,
We yield them for their country's sake
With no relenting tear.
Our blood their flowing veins will shed,
Their wounds our breasts will share;
Oh, save us from the woes we dread,
Or grant us strength to bear!
Let each unhallowed cause that brings
The stern destroyer cease,
Thy flaming angel fold his wings,
And seraphs whisper Peace!
Thine are the sceptre and the sword,
Stretch forth thy mighty hand, - 
Reign Thou our kingless nation's Lord,
Rule Thou our throneless land!