DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
The Rainbow Bridge.
by Samuel Griswold Goodrich

Love and Hope and Youth, together 
Travelling once in stormy weather,
Met a deep and gloomy tide,
Flowing swift and dark and wide.
'Twas named the river of Despair, 
And many a wreck was floating there!
The urchins paused, with faces grave,
Debating how to cross the wave,
When lo! the curtain of the storm
Was severed, and the rainbow's form
Stood against the parting cloud 
Emblem of peace on trouble's shroud!
Hope pointed to the signal flying,
And the three, their shoulders plying,
O'er the stream the light arch threw 
A rainbow bridge of loveliest hue!
Now, laughing as they tripped it o'er,
They gayly sought the other shore:
But soon the hills began to frown,
And the bright sun went darkly down.
Though their step was light and fleet,
The rainbow vanished 'neath their feet, 
And down they went, the giddy things!
But Hope put forth his ready wings, 
And clinging Love and Youth he bore
In triumph to the other shore.
But ne'er I ween should mortals deem
On rainbow bridge to cross a stream,
Unless bright, buoyant Hope is nigh,
And, light with Love and Youth, they fly!
Fard
by Edward Powys Mathers (As Translator)

Love brings the tiny sweat into your hair
Like stars marching in the dead of night.
From the Hindustani of Mir Taqui (eighteenth century).
The Young Highland Rover.
by Robert Burns

Tune - "Morag."
I.
Loud blaw the frosty breezes,
The snaws the mountains cover;
Like winter on me seizes,
Since my young Highland rover
Far wanders nations over.
Where'er he go, where'er he stray.
May Heaven be his warden:
Return him safe to fair Strathspey,
And bonnie Castle-Gordon!
II.
The trees now naked groaning,
Shall Soon wi' leaves be hinging.
The birdies dowie moaning,
Shall a' be blithely singing,
And every flower be springing.
Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day
When by his mighty Warden
My youth's returned to fair Strathspey,
And bonnie Castle-Gordon.
Love And Folly.
by Jean de La Fontaine

[1]
Love bears a world of mystery - 
His arrows, quiver, torch, and infancy:
'Tis not a trifling work to sound
A sea of science so profound:
And, hence, t' explain it all to-day
Is not my aim; but, in my simple way,
To show how that blind archer lad
(And he a god!) came by the loss of sight,
And eke what consequence the evil had,
Or good, perhaps, if named aright - 
A point I leave the lover to decide,
As fittest judge, who hath the matter tried.
Together on a certain day,
Said Love and Folly were at play:
The former yet enjoy'd his eyes.
Dispute arose. Love thought it wise
Before the council of the gods to go,
Where both of them by birth held stations;
But Folly, in her lack of patience,
Dealt on his forehead such a blow
As seal'd his orbs to all the light of heaven.
Now Venus claim'd that vengeance should be given.
And by what force of tears yourselves may guess
The woman and the mother sought redress.
The gods were deafen'd with her cries - 
Jove, Nemesis, the stern assize
Of Orcus, - all the gods, in short,
From whom she might the boon extort.
The enormous wrong she well portray'd - 
Her son a wretched groper made,
An ugly staff his steps to aid!
For such a crime, it would appear,
No punishment could be severe:
The damage, too, must be repair'd.
The case maturely weigh'd and cast,
The public weal with private squared:
Poor Folly was condemn'd at last,
By judgment of the court above,
To serve for aye as guide to Love.[2]
Love Is Strength
by George MacDonald

Love alone is great in might,
Makes the heavy burden light,
Smooths rough ways to weary feet,
Makes the bitter morsel sweet:
Love alone is strength!
Might that is not born of Love
Is not Might born from above,
Has its birthplace down below
Where they neither reap nor sow:
Love alone is strength!
Love is stronger than all force,
Is its own eternal source;
Might is always in decay,
Love grows fresher every day:
Love alone is strength!
Little ones, no ill can chance;
Fear ye not, but sing and dance;
Though the high-heaved heaven should fall
God is plenty for us all:
God is Love and Strength!
Upon Love.
by Robert Herrick

Love brought me to a silent grove
And show'd me there a tree,
Where some had hang'd themselves for love,
And gave a twist to me.
The halter was of silk and gold,
That he reach'd forth unto me;
No otherwise than if he would
By dainty things undo me.
He bade me then that necklace use;
And told me, too, he maketh
A glorious end by such a noose,
His death for love that taketh.
'Twas but a dream; but had I been
There really alone,
My desp'rate fears in love had seen
Mine execution.
Kismet
by Virna Sheard

Love came to her unsought,
Love served her many ways,
And patiently Love followed her
Throughout the nights and days.
Love spent his life for her
And hid his tears and sighs;
He bartered all his soul for her,
With tender pleading eyes.
Her scarlet mouth that smiled,
Mocked lightly at his woe,
And while she would not bid him stay
She did not bid him go.
But hope within him failed
Until he pled no more - 
And cold and still he turned his face
Away from her heart's door.
*    *    *    *    *
Long were the days she watched
For one who never came; - 
Through sleepless nights her white lips bore
The burden of a name.
Five Kisses
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I - THE MOTHER'S KISS
Love breathed a secret to her listening heart,
And said "Be silent."    Though she guarded it,
And dwelt as one within a world apart,
Yet sun and star seemed by that secret lit.
And where she passed, each whispering wind ablow,
And every little blossom in the sod,
Called joyously to her, "We know, we know,
For are we not the intimates of God?"
Life grew so radiant, and so opulent,
That when her fragile body and her brain
By mortal throes of agony were rent,
She felt a curious rapture in her pain.
Then, after anguish, came the supreme bliss - 
They brought the little baby, for her kiss!
II - THE BETROTHAL
There was a little pause between the dances;
Without, somewhere, a tinkling fountain played.
The dusky path was lit by ardent glances
As forth they fared, a lover and a maid.
He chose a nook, from curious eyes well hidden - 
All redolent with sweet midsummer charm,
And by the great primeval instinct bidden,
He drew her in the shelter of his arm.
The words that long deep in his heart had trembled
Found sudden utterance; she at first dissembled,
Refused her lips, and half withdrew her hand,
Then murmured "Yes," and yielded, woman fashion,
Her virgin mouth to young love's kiss of passion.
III - THE BRIDAL KISS
As fleecy clouds trail back across the skies,
Showing the sweet young moon in azure space,
The lifted veil revealed her shining face - 
A sudden wonder to his eager eyes.
In that familiar beauty lurked surprise:
For now the wife stood in the maiden's place - 
With conscious dignity, and woman's grace,
And love's large pride grown trebly fair and wise.
The world receded, leaving them alone.
The universe was theirs, from sphere to sphere,
And life assumed new meaning, and new worth.
Love held no privilege they did not own,
And when they kissed each other without fear,
They understood why God had made the earth.
IV - DOMESTIC BLISS
Sequestered in their calm domestic bower,
They sat together.    He in manhood's prime
And she a matron in her fullest flower.
The mantel clock gave forth a warning chime.
She put her work aside; his bright cigar
Grew pale, and crumbled in an ashen heap.
The lights went out, save one remaining star
That watched beside the children in their sleep.
She hummed a little song and nestled near,
As side by side they went to their repose.
His arm about her waist, he whispered "Dear,"
And pressed his lips upon her mouth's full rose - 
The sacred sweetness of their wedded life
Breathed in that kiss of husband and of wife.
V - OLD AGE
The young see heaven - but to the old who wait
The final call, the hills of youth arise
More beautiful than shores of Paradise.
Beside a glowing and voracious grate
A dozing couple dream of yesterday;
The islands of a vanished past appear,
Bringing forgotten names and faces near;
While lost in mist, the present fades away.
The fragrant winds of tender memories blow
Across the gardens of the "Used-to-be!"
They smile into each other's eyes, and see
The bride and bridegroom of the long ago.
And tremulous lips, pressed close to faded cheek
Love's silent tale of deathless passion speak.
Another (Epigram On The Busts)
by Jonathan Swift

Louis the living learned fed,
And raised the scientific head;
Our frugal queen, to save her meat,
Exalts the heads that cannot eat.
The Thunderbolt. - Indian Legends.
by Mary Gardiner Horsford

There is an artless tradition among the Indians, related by Irving, of a warrior who saw the thunderbolt lying upon the ground, with a beautifully wrought moccasin on each side of it. Thinking he had found a prize, he put on the moccasins, but they bore him away to the land of spirits, whence he never returned.
Loud pealed the thunder
From arsenal high,
Bright flashed the lightning
Athwart the broad sky;
Fast o'er the prairie,
Through torrent and shade,
Sought the red hunter
His hut in the glade.
Deep roared the cannon
Whose forge is the sun,
And red was the chain
The thunderbolt spun;
O'er the thick wild wood
There quivered a line,
Low 'mid the green leaves
Lay hunter and pine.
Clear was the sunshine,
The hurricane past,
And fair flowers smiled in
The path of the blast;
While in the forest
Lay rent the huge tree,
Up rose the red man,
All unharmed and free.
Bright glittered each leaf
With sunlight and spray,
And close at his feet
The thunder-bolt lay,
And moccasins, wrought
With the beads that shine,
Where the rainbow hangeth
A wampum divine.
Wondered the hunter
What spirit was there,
Then donned the strange gift
With shout and with prayer;
But the stout forest
That echoed the strain,
Heard never the voice of
That red man again.
Up o'er the mountain,
As torrents roll down,
Marched he o'er dark oak
And pine's soaring crown;
Far in the bright west
The sunset grew clear,
Crimson and golden
The hunting-grounds near:
Light trod the chieftain
The tapestried plain,
There stood his good horse
He'd left with the slain;
Gone were the sandals,
And broken the spell;
A drop of clear dew
From either foot fell.
Long the dark maiden
Sought, tearful and wide;
Never the red man
Came back for his bride;
With the forked lightning
Now hunts he the deer,
Where the Great Spirit
Smiles ever and near.
The Explanation
by Rudyard Kipling

Love and Death once ceased their strife
At the Tavern of Man's Life.
Called for wine, and threw, alas!
Each his quiver on the grass.
When the bout was o'er they found
Mingled arrows strewed the ground.
Hastily they gathered then
Each the loves and lives of men.
Ah, the fateful dawn deceived!
Mingled arrows each one sheaved;
Death's dread armoury was stored
With the shafts he most abhorred;
Love's light quiver groaned beneath
Venom-headed darts of Death.
Thus it was they wrought our woe
At the Tavern long ago.
Tell me, do our masters know,
Loosing blindly as they fly,
Old men love while young men die?
Astrophel and Stella - Sonnet LXV
by Philip Sidney (Sir)

Loue, by sure proofe I may call thee vnkind,
That giu'st no better ear to my iust cries;
Thou whom to me such good turnes should bind,
As I may well recount, but none can prize:
For when, nak'd Boy, thou couldst no harbour finde
In this old world, growne now so too, too wise,
I lodgd thee in my heart, and being blind
By nature borne, I gaue to thee mine eyes;
Mine eyes! my light, my heart, my life, alas!
If so great seruices may scorned be,
Yet let this thought thy Tygrish courage passe,
That I perhaps am somewhat kinne to thee;
Since in thine armes, if learnd fame truth hath spread,
Thou bear'st the Arrow, I the Arrow-head.
Potentates.
by Robert Herrick

Love and the Graces evermore do wait
Upon the man that is a potentate.
The Slave Singing At Midnight
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Loud he sang the psalm of David!
He, a Negro and enslaved,
Sang of Israel's victory,
Sang of Zion, bright and free.
In that hour, when night is calmest,
Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist,
In a voice so sweet and clear
That I could not choose but hear,
Songs of triumph, and ascriptions,
Such as reached the swart Egyptians,
When upon the Red Sea coast
Perished Pharaoh and his host.
And the voice of his devotion
Filled my soul with strange emotion;
For its tones by turns were glad,
Sweetly solemn, wildly sad.
Paul and Silas, in their prison,
Sang of Christ, the Lord arisen,
And an earthquake's arm of might
Broke their dungeon-gates at night.
But, alas! what holy angel
Brings the Slave this glad evangel?
And what earthquake's arm of might
Breaks his dungeon-gates at night?
Love.
by John Hartley

Love - love - love - love, - 
A tiny hand in a tiny glove;
A witching smile that means, - well, - well,
Whether little or much its hard to tell.
A tiny foot and a springy tread,
Short curls running riot all over her head;
A waist that invites a fond embrace,
Yet by modesty girt seems a holy place;
Not a place where an arm should be idly thrown,
But should gently rest, as would rest my own.
An angel whose wings are but hid from view,
Whose charms are many and faults so few,
As near perfection as mortal can be,
Is the one that I love and that loves but me.
They tell me that love is blind, - .oh, no!
They can never convince a lover so;
Love cannot be blind for it sees much more,
Then others have ever discovered before.
Oh, the restless night with its pleasing dreams,
Sweet visions through which her beauty beams;
The pleasant pains that find vent in sighs, - 
And the hopes of a earthly paradise
Where we shall dwell and heart to heart
In unison beat. Of the world a part
Yet so full of our love for each other that we
Shall sail all alone on life's troublesome sea,
In a charmed course, of perpetual calm,
Away from all danger, sccure from harm.
Ah, yes, - such is love to the maiden and youth,
That have implicit trust in each others truth; - 
Such love was mine, but alas, alas!
The things I had hoped for ne'er came to pass.
But I thank the star of my destiny,
That guided a true plain woman to me;
That amid the bustle and worry and strife,
Has proved a good mother and faithful wife,
Though the fates did not grant me an angel to wed,
They gave me a woman for helpmate instead.
Out of the Depths
by Abram Joseph Ryan

Lost!    Lost!    Lost!
The cry went up from a sea --
The waves were wild with an awful wrath,
Not a light shone down on the lone ship's path;
The clouds hung low:
Lost!    Lost!    Lost!
Rose wild from the hearts of the tempest-tossed.
Lost!    Lost!    Lost!
The cry floated over the waves --
Far over the pitiless waves;
It smote on the dark and it rended the clouds;
The billows below them were weaving white shrouds
Out of the foam of the surge,
And the wind-voices chanted a dirge:
Lost!    Lost!    Lost!
Wailed wilder the lips of the tempest-tossed.
Lost!    Lost!    Lost!
Not the sign of a hope was nigh,
In the sea, in the air, or the sky;
And the lifted faces were wan and white,
There was nothing without them but storm and night
And nothing within but fear.
But far to a Father's ear:
Lost!    Lost!    Lost!
Floated the wail of the tempest-tossed.
Lost!    Lost!    Lost!
Out of the depths of the sea --
Out of the night and the sea;
And the waves and the winds of the storm were hushed,
And the sky with the gleams of the stars was flushed.
Saved!    Saved!    Saved!
And a calm and a joyous cry
Floated up through the starry sky,
In the dark -- in the storm -- "Our Father" is nigh.
Announcement Of A New Grand Acceleration Company For The Promotion Of The Speed Of Literature.
by Thomas Moore

Loud complaints being made in these quick-reading times,
Of too slack a supply both of prose works and rhymes,
A new Company, formed on the keep-moving plan,
First proposed by the great firm of Catch-'em-who-can,
Beg to say they've now ready, in full wind and speed,
Some fast-going authors, of quite a new breed--
Such as not he who runs but who gallops may read--
And who, if well curried and fed, they've no doubt,
Will beat even Bentley's swift stud out and out.
It is true in these days such a drug is renown,
We've "Immortals" as rife as M.P.s about town;
And not a Blue's rout but can offhand supply
Some invalid bard who's insured "not to die."
Still let England but once try our authors, she'll find
How fast they'll leave even these Immortals behind;
And how truly the toils of Alcides were light,
Compared with his toil who can read all they write.
In fact there's no saying, so gainful the trade,
How fast immortalities now may be made;
Since Helicon never will want an "Undying One,"
As long as the public continues a Buying One;
And the company hope yet to witness the hour.
When, by strongly applying the mare-motive[1] power,
A three-decker novel, midst oceans of praise,
May be written, launched, read and--forgot, in three days!
In addition to all this stupendous celerity,
Which--to the no small relief of posterity--
Pays off at sight the whole debit of fame,
Nor troubles futurity even with a name
(A project that won't as much tickle Tom Tegg as us,
Since 'twill rob him of his second-priced Pegasus);
We, the Company--still more to show how immense
Is the power o'er the mind of pounds, shillings, and pence;
And that not even Phoebus himself, in our day,
Could get up a lay without first an out-lay--
Beg to add, as our literature soon may compare,
In its quick make and vent, with our Birmingham ware,
And it doesn't at all matter in either of these lines,
How sham is the article, so it but shines,--
We keep authors ready, all perched, pen in hand,
To write off, in any given style, at command.
No matter what bard, be he living or dead,
Ask a work from his pen, and 'tis done soon as said:
There being on the establishment six Walter Scotts,
One capital Wordsworth and Southeys in lots;--
Three choice Mrs. Nortons, all singing like syrens,
While most of our pallid young clerks are Lord Byrons.
Then we've ***s and ***s (for whom there's small call),
And ***s and ***s (for whom no call at all).
In short, whosoe'er the last "Lion" may be,
We've a Bottom who'll copy his roar[2] to a T,
And so well, that not one of the buyers who've got 'em
Can tell which is lion, and which only Bottom.
N. B.--The company, since they set up in this line,
Have moved their concern and are now at the sign
Of the Muse's Velocipede, Fleet Street, where all
Who wish well to the scheme are invited to call.
Astrophel and Stella - Sonnet I
by Philip Sidney (Sir)

Louing in trueth, and fayne in verse my loue to show,
That she, deare Shee, might take som pleasure of my paine,
Pleasure might cause her reade, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pittie winne, and pity grace obtaine,
I sought fit wordes to paint the blackest face of woe;
Studying inuentions fine, her wits to entertaine,
Oft turning others leaues, to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitfull showers vpon my sun-burnd brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting Inuentions stay;
Inuention, Natures childe, fledde step-dame Studies blowes;
And others feet still seemde but strangers in my way.
Thus, great with childe to speak, and helplesse in my throwes,
Biting my trewand pen, beating myselfe for spite,
Fool, said my Muse to me, looke in thy heart, and write.
Sonet 9
by Michael Drayton

Loue once would daunce within my Mistres eye,
And wanting musique fitting for the place,
Swore that I should the Instrument supply,
And sodainly presents me with her face:
Straightwayes my pulse playes liuely in my vaines,
My panting breath doth keepe a meaner time,
My quau'ring artiers be the Tenours Straynes,
My trembling sinewes serue the Counterchime,
My hollow sighs the deepest base doe beare,
True diapazon in distincted sound:
My panting hart the treble makes the ayre,
And descants finely on the musiques ground;
Thus like a Lute or Violl did I lye,
Whilst the proud slaue daunc'd galliards in her eye.
The Waster Singing At Midnight. After Longfellow
by Robert Fuller Murray

Loud he sang the song Ta Phershon
For his personal diversion,
Sang the chorus U-pi-dee,
Sang about the Barley Bree.
In that hour when all is quiet
Sang he songs of noise and riot,
In a voice so loud and queer
That I wakened up to hear.
Songs that distantly resembled
Those one hears from men assembled
In the old Cross Keys Hotel,
Only sung not half so well.
For the time of this ecstatic
Amateur was most erratic,
And he only hit the key
Once in every melody.
If 'he wot prigs wot isn't his'n
Ven he's cotched is sent to prison,'
He who murders sleep might well
Adorn a solitary cell.
But, if no obliging peeler
Will arrest this midnight squealer,
My own peculiar arm of might
Must undertake the job to-night.
To Earthward
by Robert Lee Frost

Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air
That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Downhill at dusk?
I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they're gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.
I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.
Now no joy but lacks salt,
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain
Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.
When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass and sand,
The hurt is not enough:
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.
Sonet 10
by Michael Drayton

Loue in an humor played the prodigall,
And bids my sences to a solemne feast,
Yet more to grace the company withall,
Inuites my heart to be the chiefest guest;
No other drinke would serue this gluttons turne,
But precious teares distilling from mine eyne,
Which with my sighs this Epicure doth burne,
Quaffing carouses in this costly wine,
Where, in his cups or'come with foule excesse,
Begins to play a swaggering Ruffins part,
And at the banquet, in his drunkennes,
Slew my deare friend, his kind and truest hart;
A gentle warning, friends, thus may you see
What 'tis to keepe a drunkard company.
Two Look At Two
by Robert Lee Frost

Love and forgetting might have carried them
A little further up the mountain side
With night so near, but not much further up.
They must have halted soon in any case
With thoughts of a path back, how rough it was
With rock and washout, and unsafe in darkness;
When they were halted by a tumbled wall
With barbed-wire binding. They stood facing this,
Spending what onward impulse they still had
In One last look the way they must not go,
On up the failing path, where, if a stone
Or earthslide moved at night, it moved itself;
No footstep moved it. 'This is all,' they sighed,
Good-night to woods.' But not so; there was more.
A doe from round a spruce stood looking at them
Across the wall, as near the wall as they.
She saw them in their field, they her in hers.
The difficulty of seeing what stood still,
Like some up-ended boulder split in two,
Was in her clouded eyes; they saw no fear there.
She seemed to think that two thus they were safe.
Then, as if they were something that, though strange,
She could not trouble her mind with too long,
She sighed and passed unscared along the wall.
'This, then, is all. What more is there to ask?'
But no, not yet. A snort to bid them wait.
A buck from round the spruce stood looking at them
Across the wall as near the wall as they.
This was an antlered buck of lusty nostril,
Not the same doe come back into her place.
He viewed them quizzically with jerks of head,
As if to ask, 'Why don't you make some motion?
Or give some sign of life? Because you can't.
I doubt if you're as living as you look.'
Thus till he had them almost feeling dared
To stretch a proffering hand     and a spell-breaking.
Then he too passed unscared along the wall.
Two had seen two, whichever side you spoke from.
'This must be all.' It was all. Still they stood,
A great wave from it going over them,
As if the earth in one unlooked-for favour
Had made them certain earth returned their love.