DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
More Nonsense Limerick 35
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Loo,
Who said, "What on earth shall I do?"
When they said, "Go away!" 
She continued to stay,
That vexatious old person of Loo.
Book Of Nonsense Limerick 48.
by Edward Lear

There was an Old Person of Mold,
Who shrank from sensations of cold;
So he purchased some muffs,
Some furs and some fluffs,
And wrapped himself from the cold.
More Nonsense Limerick 61
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Sark,
Who made an unpleasant remark;
But they said, "Don't you see 
What a brute you must be,
You obnoxious old person of Sark!"
More Nonsense Limerick 51
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Filey,
Of whom his acquaintance spoke highly;
He danced perfectly well,
To the sound of a bell,
And delighted the people of Filey.
Book Of Nonsense Limerick 34.
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Dover,
Who rushed through a field of blue Clover;
But some very large bees,
Stung his nose and his knees,
So he very soon went back to Dover.
More Nonsense Limerick 29
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Down,
Whose face was adorned with a frown;
When he opened the door, 
For one minute or more,
He alarmed all the people of Down.
More Nonsense Limerick 34
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Putney,
Whose food was roast spiders and chutney,
Which he took with his tea, 
Within sight of the sea,
That romantic old person of Putney.
More Nonsense Limerick 28
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Slough,
Who danced at the end of a bough;
But they said, "If you sneeze, 
You might damage the trees,
You imprudent old person of Slough."
More Nonsense Limerick 81
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Rye,
Who went up to town on a fly;
But they said, "If you cough, 
You are safe to fall off!
You abstemious old person of Rye!"
Book Of Nonsense Limerick 96.
by Edward Lear

There was an Old Person of Tartary,
Who divided his jugular artery;
But he screeched to his wife,
And she said, "Oh, my life!
Your death will be felt by all Tartary!"
More Nonsense Limerick 42
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Sheen,
Whose expression was calm and serene;
He sate in the water, 
And drank bottled porter,
That placid old person of Sheen.
More Nonsense Limerick 92
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Dundalk,
Who tried to teach fishes to walk;
When they tumbled down dead, 
He grew weary, and said,
"I had better go back to Dundalk!"
More Nonsense Limerick 11
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Shields,
Who frequented the vallies and fields;
All the mice and the cats, 
And the snakes and the rats,
Followed after that person of Shields.
More Nonsense Limerick 96
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Jodd,
Whose ways were perplexing and odd;
She purchased a whistle, 
And sate on a thistle,
And squeaked to the people of Jodd.
More Nonsense Limerick 89
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Skye,
Who waltz'd with a Bluebottle fly:
They buzz'd a sweet tune, 
To the light of the moon,
And entranced all the people of Skye.
More Nonsense Limerick 47
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Pett,
Who was partly consumed by regret;
He sate in a cart, 
And ate cold apple tart,
Which relieved that old person of Pett.
Book Of Nonsense Limerick 67.
by Edward Lear

There was an Old Person of Tring,
Who embellished his nose with a ring;
He gazed at the moon,
Every evening in June,
That ecstatic Old Person of Tring.
Book Of Nonsense Limerick 104.
by Edward Lear

There was an Old Person of Sparta,
Who had twenty-five sons and one daughter;
He fed them on snails,
And weighed them in scales,
That wonderful person of Sparta.
More Nonsense Limerick 55
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Grange,
Whose manners were scroobious and strange;
He sailed to St. Blubb 
In a waterproof tub,
That aquatic old person of Grange.
Book Of Nonsense Limerick 90.
by Edward Lear

There was an Old Person of Spain,
Who hated all trouble and pain;
So he sate on a chair,
With his feet in the air,
That umbrageous Old Person of Spain.
Book Of Nonsense Limerick 99.
by Edward Lear

There was an Old Person of Gretna,
Who rushed down the crater of Etna;
When they said, "Is it hot?"
He replied, "No, it's not!"
That mendacious Old Person of Gretna.
More Nonsense Limerick 25
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Fife,
Who was greatly disgusted with life;
They sang him a ballad, 
And fed him on salad,
Which cured that old person of Fife.
More Nonsense Limerick 37
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Dean
Who dined on one pea, and one bean;
For he said, "More than that, 
Would make me too fat,"
That cautious old person of Dean.
Book Of Nonsense Limerick 62.
by Edward Lear

There was an Old Person of Rheims,
Who was troubled with horrible dreams;
So, to keep him awake,
They fed him with cake,
Which amused that Old Person of Rheims.
Book Of Nonsense Limerick 14.
by Edward Lear

There was an Old Person of Ischia,
Whose conduct grew friskier and friskier;
He danced hornpipes and jigs,
And ate thousands of figs,
That lively Old Person of Ischia.
Book Of Nonsense Limerick 64.
by Edward Lear

There was an Old Person of Troy,
Whose drink was warm brandy and soy;
Which he took with a spoon,
By the light of the moon,
In sight of the city of Troy.
More Nonsense Limerick 76
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Ealing,
Who was wholly devoid of good feeling;
He drove a small gig, 
With three Owls and a Pig,
Which distressed all the people of Ealing.
More Nonsense Limerick 68
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Hyde,
Who walked by the shore with his bride,
Till a Crab who came near 
Fill'd their bosoms with fear,
And they said, "Would we'd never left Hyde!"
More Nonsense Limerick 71
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Sestri,
Who sate himself down in the vestry;
When they said, "You are wrong!" 
He merely said "Bong!"
That repulsive old person of Sestri.
Book Of Nonsense Limerick 45.
by Edward Lear

There was an Old Person of Prague,
Who was suddenly seized with the plague;
But they gave him some butter,
Which caused him to mutter,
And cured that Old Person of Prague.
More Nonsense Limerick 31
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Hove,
Who frequented the depths of a grove;
Where he studied his books, 
With the wrens and the rooks,
That tranquil old person of Hove.
Book Of Nonsense Limerick 78.
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Dutton,
Whose head was so small as a button;
So to make it look big,
He purchased a wig,
And rapidly rushed about Dutton.
More Nonsense Limerick 67
by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Ickley,
Who could not abide to ride quickly;
He rode to Karnak 
On a tortoise's back,
That moony old person of Ickley.
Mowing
by Robert Lee Frost

There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound,
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
The fact is the sweetest dream that labour knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.
Helen All Alone
by Rudyard Kipling

There was darkness under Heaven
For an hour's space,
Darkness that we knew was given
Us for special grace.
Sun and moon and stars were hid,
God had left His Throne,
When Helen came to me, she did,
Helen all alone!
Side by side (because our fate
Damned us ere our birth)
We stole out of Limbo Gate
Looking for the Earth.
Hand in pulling hand amid
Fear no dreams have known,
Helen ran with me, she did,
Helen all alone!
When the Horror passing speech
Hunted us along,
Each laid hold on each, and each
Found the other strong.
In the teeth of Things forbid
And Reason overthrown,
Helen stood by me, she did,
Helen all alone!
When, at last, we heard those Fires
Dull and die away,
When, at last, our linked desires
Dragged us up to day;
When, at last, our souls were rid
Of what that Night had shown,
Helen passed from me, she did,
Helen all alone!
Let her go and find a mate,
As I will find a bride,
Knowing naught of Limbo Gate
Or Who are penned inside.
There is knowledge God forbid
More than one should own.
So Helen went from me, she did,
Oh, my soul, be glad she did!
Helen all alone!
Nursery Rhyme. CCLVI. Gaffers And Gammers.
by Unknown

There was an old woman, her name it was Peg;
Her head was of wood, and she wore a cork-leg.
The neighbours all pitch'd her into the water,
Her leg was drown'd first, and her head follow'd a'ter.
The Man With A Past
by Thomas Hardy

There was merry-making
When the first dart fell
As a heralding, -
Till grinned the fully bared thing,
And froze like a spell -
Like a spell.
Innocent was she,
Innocent was I,
Too simple we!
Before us we did not see,
Nearing, aught wry -
Aught wry!
I can tell it not now,
It was long ago;
And such things cow;
But that is why and how
Two lives were so -
Were so.
Yes, the years matured,
And the blows were three
That time ensured
On her, which she dumbly endured;
And one on me -
One on me.
Nursery Rhyme. CCLXXIII. Gaffers And Gammers.
by Unknown

There was an old woman called Nothing-at-all,
Who rejoiced in a dwelling exceedingly small:
A man stretched his mouth to its utmost extent,
And down at one gulp house and old woman went.
Genius.
by Edwin C. Ranck

There was once a young man quite erratic
Who lived all alone in an attic,
He wrote magazine verse
That made editors curse,
But his friends thought it fine and dramatic.
Nursery Rhyme. CCLXVI. Gaffers And Gammers.
by Unknown

[The first two lines of the following are the same with those of a song in D'Urfey's 'Pills to Purge Melancholy,' vol. v, p. 13.]
There was an old woman
Lived under a hill,
She put a mouse in a bag,
And sent it to mill;
The miller declar'd
By the point of his knife,
He never took toll
Of a mouse in his life.
Caledonia.
by Robert Burns

Tune - "Caledonian Hunt's Delight."
I.
There was once a day - but old Time then was young - 
That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line,
From some of your northern deities sprung,
(Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?)
From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain,
To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would:
Her heav'nly relations there fixed her reign,
And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good.
II.
A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war,
The pride of her kindred the heroine grew;
Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore
"Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue!"
With tillage or pasture at times she would sport,
To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn;
But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort,
Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn.
III.
Long quiet she reign'd; till thitherward steers
A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand:
Repeated, successive, for many long years,
They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land:
Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry,
They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside;
She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly - 
The daring invaders they fled or they died.
IV.
The fell harpy-raven took wing from the north,
The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore;
The wild Scandinavian boar issu'd forth
To wanton in carnage, and wallow in gore;
O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd,
No arts could appease them, no arms could repel;
But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd,
As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell.
V.
The Cameleon-savage disturbed her repose,
With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife;
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose,
And robb'd him at once of his hope and his life:
The Anglian lion, the terror of France,
Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood:
But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance,
He learned to fear in his own native wood.
VI.
Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free,
Her bright course of glory for ever shall run:
For brave Caledonia immortal must be;
I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun:
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll choose,
The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base;
But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse;
Then ergo, she'll match them, and match them always.
The Charity Ball.
by Hattie Howard

There was many a token of festal display,
And reveling crowds who were never so gay,
And, as it were 'olus charming the hours,
An orchestra hidden by foliage and flowers;
There were tapestries fit for the home of a queen,
And mirrors that glistened in wonderful sheen;
There was feasting and mirth in the banqueting-hall,
For this was the annual Charity Ball.
There were pompous civilians, in wealth who abide,
Displaying their purses, the source of their pride;
And plethoric dealers in margins and stocks,
And owners of acres of elegant blocks,
And tenement-landlords who cling to a cent
When from the poor widow exacting her rent - 
Immovable, stern, as an adamant wall - 
And yet, who "came down" to this Charity Ball.
There was Beauty whose toilet, superb and unique,
Cost underpaid industry many a week
Of arduous labor of eye, and heartache,
Its starving inadequate pittance to make;
There were mischievous maidens and cavaliers bold,
Whose blushes and glances and coquetry told
A tale of the monarch who held them in thrall - 
Who met, as by chance, at the Charity Ball.
There were delicate viands the poor never taste,
And dollars were lavished in prodigal waste
To pamper the palate of epicures rich;
Who drew from the wine cellar's cavernous niche
"Excelsior" brands of the rarest champagnes
To loosen their tongues - though it pilfered their brains - 
Oh, sad if a step in some woeful downfall
Should ever be traced to a Charity Ball!
Outside of the window, pressed close to the pane,
And furrowed by tears that had fallen like rain,
Was the face of a woman, so spectral in hue,
With great liquid eyes, like twin oceans of blue,
And cheeks in whose hollows were written the lines
That pitiless hunger so often defines,
Who muttered, as closer she gathered the shawl,
"Oh, never for me is this Charity Ball!"
From liveried hirelings who bade her begone,
By uniformed minions compelled to move on,
Out into the street again driven to roam - 
For friends she had none, neither fortune nor home;
While carnival-goers in morning's dull gray
As homeward returning, fatigued and blas',
A vision encountered their hearts to appall,
And banish all thought of the Charity Ball.
As if seeking warmth from the icy curb-stone,
A form half-reclining, half-clad, and unknown.
Dead eyes looking up with a meaningless stare,
Lay close to the crowded and broad thoroughfare;
A form so emaciate the spirit had fled - 
But the pulpit and press and the public all said,
As society's doings they sought to recall,
That a "brilliant success" was the Charity Ball.
Nursery Rhyme. CCLXVII. Gaffers And Gammers.
by Unknown

[The following is part of a comic song called 'Success to the Whistle and Wig,' intended to be sung in rotation by the members of a club.]
There was an old woman had three sons,
Jerry, and James, and John:
Jerry was hung, James was drowned,
John was lost and never was found,
And there was an end of the three sons,
Jerry, and James, and John!
Book Of Nonsense Limerick 33.
by Edward Lear

There was an Old Person whose habits,
Induced him to feed upon Rabbits;
When he'd eaten eighteen,
He turned perfectly green,
Upon which he relinquished those habits.
Nursery Rhyme. CCCLXXII. Paradoxes.
by Unknown

There was an old woman had nothing,
And there came thieves to rob her;
When she cried out she made no noise,
But all the country heard her.
My Castle In Spain.
by John Milton Hay

There was never a castle seen
So fair as mine in Spain:
It stands embowered in green,
Crowning the gentle slope
Of a hill by the Xenil's shore
And at eve its shade flaunts o'er
The storied Vega plain,
And its towers are hid in the mists of Hope;
And I toil through years of pain
Its glimmering gates to gain.
In visions wild and sweet
Sometimes its courts I greet:
Sometimes in joy its shining halls
I tread with favoured feet;
But never my eyes in the light of day
Were blest with its ivied walls,
Where the marble white and the granite gray
Turn gold alike when the sunbeams play,
When the soft day dimly falls.
I know in its dusky rooms
Are treasures rich and rare;
The spoil of Eastern looms,
And whatever of bright and fair
Painters divine have caught and won
From the vault of Italy's air:
White gods in Phidian stone
People the haunted glooms;
And the song of immortal singers
Like a fragrant memory lingers,
I know, in the echoing rooms.
But nothing of these, my soul!
Nor castle, nor treasures, nor skies,
Nor the waves of the river that roil
With a cadence faint and sweet
In peace by its marble feet -
Nothing of these is the goal
For which my whole heart sighs.
'Tis the pearl gives worth to the shell -
The pearl I would die to gain;
For there does my lady dwell,
My love that I love so well -
The Queen whose gracious reign
Makes glad my castle in Spain.
Her face so pure and fair
Sheds light in the shady places,
And the spell of her girlish graces
Holds charmed the happy air.
A breath of purity
For ever before her flies,
And ill things cease to be
In the glance of her honest eyes.
Around her pathway flutter,
Where her dear feet wander free
In youth's pure majesty,
The wings of the vague desires;
But the thought that love would utter
In reverence expires.
Not yet! not yet shall I see
That face which shines like a star
O'er my storm-swept life afar,
Transfigured with love for me.
Toiling, forgetting, and learning
With labour and vigils and prayers,
Pure heart and resolute will,
At last I shall climb the hill
And breathe the enchanted airs
Where the light of my life is burning
Most lovely and fair and free,
Where alone in her youth and beauty
And bound by her fate's sweet duty,
Unconscious she waits for me.
The Earthquake.
by Susanna Moodie

There was no sound in earth or air,
And soft the moonbeams smiled
On stately tower and temple fair,
Like mother o'er her child;
And all was hushed in the deep repose
That welcomes the summer evening's close.
Many an eye that day had wept,
And many a cheek with joy grew bright,
Which now, alike unconscious, slept
Beneath the wan moonlight;
And mandolin and gay guitar
Had ceased to woo the evening star.
The lover has sought his couch again,
And the maiden's eyes no longer glisten,
As she comes to the lattice to catch his strain,
And sighs while she bends to smile and listen.
She sleeps, but her rosy lips still move,
And in dreams she answers the voice of love.
Sleep on, ye thoughtless and giddy train,
Sorrow comes with the dawning ray;
Ye never shall wake to joy again,
Or your gay laugh gladden the rising day:
Death sits brooding above your towers,
And destruction rides on the coming hours.--
The day has dawned--but not a breath
Sighs through the sultry air;
The heavens above and earth beneath
One gloomy aspect wear--
Horror and doubt and wild dismay
Welcome the dawn of that fatal day.
Hark!--'tis not the thunder's lengthened peal!
Hark!--'tis not the winds that rise;
Or the heavy crush of the laden wheel,
That echoes through the skies--
'Tis the sound that gives the earthquake birth!
'Tis the heavy groans of the rending earth!
Oh, there were shrieks of wild affright,
And sounds of hurrying feet,
And men who cursed the lurid light,
Whose glance they feared to meet:
And some sunk down in mute despair
On the parched earth, and perished there.--
It comes!--it comes!--that lengthened shock--
The earth before it reels--
The stately towers and temples rock,
The dark abyss reveals
Its fiery depths--the strife is o'er,
The city sinks to rise no more.
She has passed from earth like a fearful dream;--
Where her pomp and splendour rose,
There runs a dark and turbid stream,
And a sable cloud its shadow throws;
Pale sorrow broods in silence there,
To mourn the perished things that were.
Nursery Rhyme. CCLVIII. Gaffers And Gammers.
by Unknown

There was an old woman,
And she sold puddings and pies;
She went to the mill,
And the dust flew in her eyes:
Hot pies and cold pies to sell!
Wherever she goes, - 
You may follow her by the smell.
Nursery Rhyme. CCLXI. Gaffers And Gammers.
by Unknown

There was an old woman toss'd up in a basket
Nineteen times as high as the moon;
Where she was going I couldn't but ask it,
For in her hand she carried a broom.
Old woman, old woman, old woman, quoth I,
O whither, O whither, O whither, so high?
To brush the cobwebs off the sky!
Shall I go with thee? Aye, by and by.
Follow Me 'ome
by Rudyard Kipling

There was no one like 'im, 'Orse or Foot,
Nor any o' the Guns I knew;
An' because it was so, why, o' course 'e went an' died,
Which is just what the best men do.
So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me!
An' it's finish up your swipes an' follow me!
Oh, 'ark to the big drum callin',
Follow me, follow me 'ome!
'Is mare she neighs the 'ole day long,
She paws the 'ole night through,
An' she won't take 'er feed 'cause o' waitin' for 'is step,
Which is just what a beast would do.
'Is girl she goes with a bombardier
Before 'er month is through;
An' the banns are up in church, for she's got the beggar hooked,
Which is just what a girl would do.
We fought 'bout a dog, last week it were,
No more than a round or two;
But I strook 'im cruel 'ard, an' I wish I 'adn't now,
Which is just what a man can't do.
'E was all that I 'ad in the way of a friend,
An' I've 'ad to find one new;
But I'd give my pay an' stripe for to get the beggar back,
Which it's just too late to do!
So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me!
An' it's finish off your swipes an' follow me!
Oh, 'ark to the fifes a-crawlin'!
Follow me, follow me 'ome!
Take 'im away! 'E's gone where the best men go.
Take 'im away! An' the gun-wheels turnin' slow.
Take 'im away! There's more from the place 'e come.
Take 'im away, with the limber an' the drum.
For it's "Three rounds blank" an' follow me,
An' it's "Thirteen rank" an' follow me;
Oh, passin' the love o' women,
Follow me, follow me 'ome!
The Old Woman Of Norwich
by Walter Crane

There was an old woman and what do you think?
She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink;
Victuals and drink were the chief of her diet,
Yet this plaguey old woman could never be quiet.
The Ghosts
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

There was no wind, and yet the air
Seemed suddenly astir;
There were no forms, and yet all space
Seemed thronged with growing hosts.
They came from Where, and from Nowhere,
Like phantoms as they were;
They came from many a land and place - 
The ghosts, the ghosts, the ghosts.
And some were white, and some were grey,
And some were red as blood - 
Those ghosts of men who met their death
Upon the field of war.
Against the skies of fading day,
Like banks of cloud they stood;
And each wraith asked another wraith,
'What were we fighting for?'
One said, 'I was my mother's all;
And she was old and blind.'
Another, 'Back on earth, my wife
And week-old baby lie.'
Another, 'At the bugle's call,
I left my bride behind;
Love made so beautiful my life
I could not bear to die.'
In voices like the winds that moan
Among pine trees at night,
They whispered long, the newly dead,
While listening stars came out.
'We wonder if the cause is known,
And if the war was right,
That killed us in our prime,' they said,
'And what it was about.'
They came in throngs that filled all space - 
Those whispering phantom hosts;
They came from many a land and place,
The ghosts, the ghosts, the ghosts.