DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
Feast of the Sacred Heart
by Abram Joseph Ryan

Two lights on a lowly altar;
Two snowy cloths for a Feast;
Two vases of dying roses;
The morning comes from the east,
With a gleam for the folds of the vestments
And a grace for the face of the priest.
The sound of a low, sweet whisper
Floats over a little bread,
And trembles around a chalice,
And the priest bows down his head!
O'er a sign of white on the altar --
In the cup -- o'er a sign of red.
As red as the red of roses,
As white as the white of snows!
But the red is a red of a surface
Beneath which a God's blood flows;
And the white is the white of a sunlight
Within which a God's flesh glows.
Ah! words of the olden Thursday!
Ye come from the far-away!
Ye bring us the Friday's victim
In His own love's olden way;
In the hand of the priest at the altar
His Heart finds a home each day.
The sight of a Host uplifted!
The silver-sound of a bell!
The gleam of a golden chalice.
Be glad, sad heart! 'tis well;
He made, and He keeps love's promise,
With thee all days to dwell.
From his hand to his lips that tremble,
From his lips to his heart a-thrill,
Goes the little Host on its love-path,
Still doing the Father's will;
And over the rim of the chalice
The blood flows forth to fill
The heart of the man anointed
With the waves of a wondrous grace;
A silence falls on the altar --
An awe on each bended face --
For the Heart that bled on Calvary
Still beats in the holy place.
The priest comes down to the railing
Where brows are bowed in prayer;
In the tender clasp of his fingers
A Host lies pure and fair,
And the hearts of Christ and the Christian
Meet there -- and only there!
Oh! love that is deep and deathless!
Oh! faith that is strong and grand!
Oh! hope that will shine forever,
O'er the wastes of a weary land!
Christ's Heart finds an earthly heaven
In the palm of the priest's pure hand.
The Happy Time
by Michael Earls

Two gloomy scenes may be,
Or count you three:
A building hope all crushed at morn,
A bridal day in clouds of rain,
And night that keeps a mother's pain
For tidings of a child forlorn.
Of happy times count more,
Admit these four:
A flower of promise rich with day,
A son with victories that wear
A halo on his mother's way:
And friends whose hearts ring like a chime
Across the world at Christmas time.
Song
by Christina Georgina Rossetti

Two doves upon the selfsame branch,
Two lilies on a single stem,
Two butterflies upon one flower:--
Oh happy they who look on them.
Who look upon them hand in hand
Flushed in the rosy summer light;
Who look upon them hand in hand
And never give a thought to night.
Hunters And Trappers.
by James McIntyre

Two hunters near to Hudson Bay,
Their names John Grant and Tom McKay,
Their skill and courage naught could daunt,
The boldest one perhaps was Grant.
The winter was their busy time,
When all was snow and frost and rime,
It paid best then to pull trigger,
For then furs were better thicker.
While setting trap Grant cut through boot
And quick the blood gushed from his foot,
The horrid scene, now who can paint,
For loss of blood soon makes him faint.
But his kind partner Tom McKay
The rush of blood he tried to stay,
And when its flow did somewhat slack
He carried him upon his back.
As homeward he doth slowly go,
A track of blood is o'er the snow,
But long and weary is the way
And soon exhausted is McKay.
He feels assistance he doth want,
For to rescue his dear friend Grant,
He stood him up against a tree
While the blood yet flowed quite free.
Now wolves had visited the trap
And blood from snow they eager lap,
Then tracked poor Grant, for on the snow
The blood in heavy drops did flow.
He soon got help, then John McKay
Doth hurry back without delay,
And what a sight then met their gaze
Filled them with horror and amaze.
The sight their minds will ever haunt,
Mangled by wolves was their friend Grant,
But round him several wolves were slain
With bullet holes right through their brain.
For he had fought hard for his life,
And some he slew with hunting knife,
And he is still quite surrounded,
While fierce brutes are badly wounded.
Now clubs doth soon dash out their brains
And then they gather Grant's remains,
They cut two saplings both same size,
With twigs they lace them acrosswise.
So it then made for the poor dead
A good soft and pliable bed,
Now to his home remains they bear,
Where his poor wife is in despair.
Circumstance
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Two children in two neighbor villages
Playing mad pranks along the heathy leas;
Two strangers meeting at a festival;
Two lovers whispering by an orchard wall:
Two lives bound fast in one with golden ease;
Two graves grass-green beside a gray church-tower,
Wash'd with still rains and daisy-blossomed;
Two children in one hamlet born and bred:
So runs the round of life from hour to hour.
Two Ghosts
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Two dead men boarded a spectral ship
In the astral Port of Space;
On that ghost-filled barque, they met in the dark,
And halted, face to face.
'Now whither away' - called one of the ghosts,
'This ship sets sail for Earth.
On the astral plane you must remain,
Where the newly dead have birth.'
'But I could not stay and I would not stay,'
The other ghost replied;
'I must hurry back to the old Earth track
And stand at my loved one's side.
'She weeps for me in her lonely room,
In the land from whence I came;
Oh! stow me away in this ship, I pray,
For I hear her call my name.'
'You must not go, and you shall not go,'
The first ghost cried in wrath.
'Your work is planned, in the astral land,
And a guide will show you the path.'
'But the one I love' - 'I loved her too,'
The first ghost stood and cried;
'And year on year I waited here,
Yea, waited till you died.
'For I would not come between you two,
Nor shadow her joy with fear,
But mine is the right, I claim this night
To visit the earthly sphere.
'For you are dead, and I am dead,
And you had her long - so long.
And to look on the grace of her worshipped face,
Ah! now it can do no wrong.
'I am fettered to Earth by love of her,
And hers is the spell divine,
That can help me rise, to the realm that lies
Just over the astral line.
'I have kept to the laws of God and man,
I have suffered and made no moan;
Now my little share of joy, I swear
I will have - and have it alone.'
A skeleton crew the anchor drew,
And the ship from the port swung free;
With a muffled clang the ghost bell rang,
And the boat sailed out to sea.
And one ghost stood on the deck and laughed,
As only a glad ghost can;
While a swooning soul was dragged to his goal,
To work out the astral span.
And a woman wept, and prayed ere she slept,
For a dream to ease her pain;
But she dreamed instead of a man long dead,
Who had loved her all in vain.
The Reporter
by Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev

Two friends were sitting at a table drinking tea.
A sudden hubbub arose in the street. They heard pitiable groans, furious abuse, bursts of malignant laughter.
'They're beating some one,' observed one of the friends, looking out of window.
'A criminal? A murderer?' inquired the other. 'I say, whatever he may be, we can't allow this illegal chastisement. Let's go and take his part.'
'But it's not a murderer they're beating.'
'Not a murderer? Is it a thief then? It makes no difference, let's go and get him away from the crowd.'
'It's not a thief either.'
'Not a thief? Is it an absconding cashier then, a railway director, an army contractor, a Russian art patron, a lawyer, a Conservative editor, a social reformer?... Any way, let's go and help him!'
'No ... it's a newspaper reporter they're beating.'
'A reporter? Oh, I tell you what: we'll finish our glasses of tea first then.'
July 1878.
The Two Dogs and the Dead Ass.
by Jean de La Fontaine

Two lean and hungry mastiffs once espied
A dead ass floating on a water wide.
The distance growing more and more,
Because the wind the carcass bore, - 
"My friend," said one, "your eyes are best;
Pray let them on the water rest:
What thing is that I seem to see?
An ox, or horse? what can it be?"
"Hey!" cried his mate; "what matter which,
Provided we could get a flitch?
It doubtless is our lawful prey:
The puzzle is to find some way
To get the prize; for wide the space
To swim, with wind against your face.
Let's drink the flood; our thirsty throats
Will gain the end as well as boats.
The water swallow'd, by and by
We'll have the carcass, high and dry - 
Enough to last a week, at least."
Both drank as some do at a feast;
Their breath was quench'd before their thirst,
And presently the creatures burst!
And such is man. Whatever he
May set his soul to do or be,
To him is possibility.
How many vows he makes!
How many steps he takes!
How does he strive, and pant, and strain,
Fortune's or Glory's prize to gain!
The Two Guides Of Life. The Sublime And The Beautiful.
by Friedrich Schiller

Two genii are there, from thy birth through weary life to guide thee;
Ah, happy when, united both, they stand to aid beside thee?
With gleesome play to cheer the path, the one comes blithe with beauty,
And lighter, leaning on her arm, the destiny and duty.
With jest and sweet discourse she goes unto the rock sublime,
Where halts above the eternal sea [57] the shuddering child of time.
The other here, resolved and mute and solemn, claspeth thee,
And bears thee in her giant arms across the fearful sea.
Never admit the one alone! Give not the gentle guide
Thy honor nor unto the stern thy happiness confide!
Divorced
by Henry Lawson

Two couples are drifting the self-same way
(Men of the world know well)
From the ballroom glare as the night grows grey
(Men of the world can tell).
Many are round them who know, and knew,
But men of the world are blind;
That couple in front has nought to do
With the couple that comes behind.
The woman starts on her partner's arm,
For a reason he could not tell,
She trips and she laughs the Society laugh,
That men of the world know well.
If she laughs too suddenly, talks too fast,
We are deaf as well as blind,
'Twas only the ghosts of the girlish days
When she married the man behind.
He feels a pang where his heart had been
(For a reason he cannot tell).
A spasm that mars the cynical smile
That men of the world know well.
A spasm that's known in Society,
And by many men 'out of the hunt'.
'Tis only the ghosts of his boyish hopes
When he married the woman in front.
And the man in front, and the woman behind
(Oh, Society's smile and bow!)
They are too well-bred to ask even in thought
What has come to their partners now.
But the couples drift in Society's stream
To the kerb where the two cabs wait,
It was all because of what others had said,
And a word that was spoken too late.
The Twinses.[1]
by James Barron Hope

Two little children toddled up to me,
Their faces fair as faces well could be,
Roses and snow, but pale the roses were
Like flowers fainting for the lack of air.
Sad was the tender study which I gave
The winning creatures, both so sweet and grave,
Two beautiful young Saxons, scarce knee high!
As like as peas! Two Lilliputian men!
Immortal ere they knew it by the pen
Which waketh laughter or bedews the eye.
God bless you, little people! May His hand
Hold you within its hollow all your days!
Smooth all the rugged places, and your ways
Make long and pleasant in a fruitful land!
The Two Cocks.
by Jean de La Fontaine

[1]
Two cocks in peace were living, when
A war was kindled by a hen.
O love, thou bane of Troy! 'twas thine
The blood of men and gods to shed
Enough to turn the Xanthus red
As old Port wine!
And long the battle doubtful stood:
(I mean the battle of the cocks;)
They gave each other fearful shocks:
The fame spread o'er the neighbourhood,
And gather'd all the crested brood.
And Helens more than one, of plumage bright,
Led off the victor of that bloody fight.
The vanquish'd, drooping, fled,
Conceal'd his batter'd head,
And in a dark retreat
Bewail'd his sad defeat.
His loss of glory and the prize
His rival now enjoy'd before his eyes.
While this he every day beheld,
His hatred kindled, courage swell'd:
He whet his beak, and flapp'd his wings,
And meditated dreadful things.
Waste rage! His rival flew upon a roof
And crow'd to give his victory proof. - 
A hawk this boasting heard:
Now perish'd all his pride,
As suddenly he died
Beneath that savage bird.
In consequence of this reverse,
The vanquish'd sallied from his hole,
And took the harem, master sole,
For moderate penance not the worse.
Imagine the congratulation,
The proud and stately leading,
Gallanting, coaxing, feeding,
Of wives almost a nation!
'Tis thus that Fortune loves to flee
The insolent by victory.
We should mistrust her when we beat,
Lest triumph lead us to defeat.
On Circuit.
by Horace Smith

Two neighbours, fighting for a yard of land;
Two witnesses, who lie on either hand;
Two lawyers, issuing many writs and pleas;
Two clerks, in a dark passage counting fees;
Two counsel, calling one another names;
Two courts, where lawyers play their little games;
Two weeks at Leeds, which wear the soul away;
Two judges getting limper every day;
Two bailiffs of the court with aspect sour--
So runs the round of life from hour to hour.
The Head And The Tail Of The Serpent.
by Jean de La Fontaine

[1]
Two parts the serpent has - 
Of men the enemies - 
The head and tail: the same
Have won a mighty fame,
Next to the cruel Fates; - 
So that, indeed, hence
They once had great debates
About precedence.
The first had always gone ahead;
The tail had been for ever led;
And now to Heaven it pray'd,
And said,
'O, many and many a league,
Dragg'd on in sore fatigue,
Behind his back I go.
Shall he for ever use me so?
Am I his humble servant;
No. Thanks to God most fervent!
His brother I was born,
And not his slave forlorn.
The self-same blood in both,
I'm just as good as he:
A poison dwells in me
As virulent as doth[2]
In him. In mercy, heed,
And grant me this decree,
That I, in turn, may lead - 
My brother, follow me.
My course shall be so wise,
That no complaint shall rise.'
With cruel kindness Heaven granted
The very thing he blindly wanted:
To such desires of beasts and men,
Though often deaf, it was not then.
At once this novel guide,
That saw no more in broad daylight
Than in the murk of darkest night,
His powers of leading tried,
Struck trees, and men, and stones, and bricks,
And led his brother straight to Styx.
And to the same unlovely home,
Some states by such an error come.
Two Things Odious.
by Robert Herrick

Two of a thousand things are disallow'd:
A lying rich man, and a poor man proud.
The Palaces of the Sidhe
by George William Russell

Two small sweet lives together
From dawn till the dew falls down,
They danced over rock and heather
Away from the dusty town.
Dark eyes like stars set in pansies,
Blue eyes like a hero's bold--
Their thoughts were all pearl-light fancies,
Their hearts in the age of gold.
They crooned o'er many a fable
And longed for the bright-capped elves,
The faery folk who are able
To make us faery ourselves.
A hush on the children stealing
They stood there hand in hand,
For the elfin chimes were pealing
Aloud in the underland.
And over the grey rock sliding,
A fiery colour ran,
And out of its thickness gliding
The twinkling mist of a man--
To-day for the children had fled to
An ancient yesterday,
And the rill from its tunnelled bed too
Had turned another way.
Then down through an open hollow
The old man led with a smile:
"Come, star-hearts, my children, follow
To the elfin land awhile."
The bells above them were hanging,
Whenever the earth-breath blew
It made them go clanging, clanging,
The vasty mountain through.
But louder yet than the ringing
Came the chant of the elfin choir,
Till the mountain was mad with singing
And dense with the forms of fire.
The kings of the faery races
Sat high on the thrones of might,
And infinite years from their faces
Looked out through eyes of light.
And one in a diamond splendour
Shone brightest of all that hour,
More lofty and pure and tender,
They called him the Flower of Power.
The palace walls were glowing
Like stars together drawn,
And a fountain of air was flowing
The primrose colour of dawn.
"Ah, see!" said Aileen sighing,
With a bend of her saddened head
Where a mighty hero was lying,
He looked like one who was dead.
"He will wake," said their guide, "'tis but seeming,
And, oh, what his eyes shall see
I will know of only in dreaming
Till I lie there still as he."
They chanted the song of waking,
They breathed on him with fire,
Till the hero-spirit outbreaking,
Shot radiant above the choir.
Like a pillar of opal glory
Lit through with many a gem--
"Why, look at him now," said Rory,
"He has turned to a faery like them!"
The elfin kings ascending
Leaped up from the thrones of might,
And one with another blending
They vanished in air and light.
The rill to its bed came splashing
With rocks on the top of that:
The children awoke with a flashing
Of wonder, "What were we at?"
They groped through the reeds and clover--
"What funny old markings:    look here,
They have scrawled the rocks all over:
It's just where the door was:    how queer!"
--September 15, 1896
From Ibn Jemin
by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Two things thou shalt not long for, if thou love a mind serene;--
A woman to thy wife, though she were a crowned queen;
And the second, borrowed money,--though the smiling lender say
That he will not demand the debt until the Judgment Day.
On the Deaths of Thomas Carlyle - Sonnets
by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Two souls diverse out of our human sight
Pass, followed one with love and each with wonder:
The stormy sophist with his mouth of thunder,
Clothed with loud words and mantled in the might
Of darkness and magnificence of night;
And one whose eye could smite the night in sunder,
Searching if light or no light were thereunder,
And found in love of loving-kindness light.
Duty divine and Thought with eyes of fire
Still following Righteousness with deep desire
Shone sole and stern before her and above,
Sure stars and sole to steer by; but more sweet
Shone lower the loveliest lamp for earthly feet,
The light of little children, and their love.
Society.
by Robert Herrick

Two things do make society to stand:
The first commerce is, and the next command.
The Thieves And The Ass.[1]
by Jean de La Fontaine

Two thieves, pursuing their profession,
Had of a donkey got possession,
Whereon a strife arose,
Which went from words to blows.
The question was, to sell, or not to sell;
But while our sturdy champions fought it well,
Another thief, who chanced to pass,
With ready wit rode off the ass.
This ass is, by interpretation,
Some province poor, or prostrate nation.
The thieves are princes this and that,
On spoils and plunder prone to fat, - 
As those of Austria, Turkey, Hungary.
(Instead of two, I've quoted three - 
Enough of such commodity.)
These powers engaged in war all,
Some fourth thief stops the quarrel,
According all to one key,
By riding off the donkey.
Dick an Me.
by John Hartley

Two old fogies, - Dick an me, - 
Old, an grey as grey can be.
A'a,-but monny a jolly spree
We have had; - 
An tha ne'er went back o' me; - 
Bonny lad!
All thi life, sin puppy days
We've been chums: - tha knows mi ways; - 
An noa matter what fowk says,
On we jog.
'Spite what tricks dame Fortun plays, - 
Tha'rt my dog.
Th' world wod seem a dreary spot, - 
All mi joys wod goa to pot; - 
Looansum be mi little cot,
Withaat thee;
A'a, tha knows awst freeat a lot
If tha'd to dee.
Once on a time we rammeld far
O'er hills an dales, an rugged scar;
Whear fowk, less ventersum, ne'er dar
To set ther feet;
An nowt wor thear awr peace to mar; - 
Oh, it wor sweet!
But nah, old chap, thi limbs are stiff; - 
Tha connot run an climb - but if
Tha wags thi tail, - why, that's eniff
To cheer me yet;
An th' fun we've had o'er plain an cliff,
Awst ne'er forget.
If aw, like Burns, could sing thi praise;
Could touch the strings to tune sich lays - 
Tha'd be enshrined for endless days
I' deathless song;
But Fate has will'd it otherways.
Yet, love is strong.
Blest be that heart 'at finds i' me
What nubdy else could ivver see; - 
Summat to love. - Aye! even thee,
Tha knows its true;
We've shared booath wealth an poverty,
An meean to do.
When fowk wi kindly hearts aglow,
Say, "Poor old fogies," they dooant know
'At all they own is far below
Thy worth to me;
An all the wealth at they could show
Wod ne'er tempt thee,
Time's creepin on, - we wait a chonce,
When we shall quit life's mazy donee;
But, please God! Tak us booath at once,
Old Dick an me;
When's time to quit, - why - that announce
When best suits Thee.
The Two Mules.
by Jean de La Fontaine

Two mules were bearing on their backs,
One, oats; the other, silver of the tax.[1]
The latter glorying in his load,
March'd proudly forward on the road;
And, from the jingle of his bell,
'Twas plain he liked his burden well.
But in a wild-wood glen
A band of robber men
Rush'd forth upon the twain.
Well with the silver pleased,
They by the bridle seized
The treasure-mule so vain.
Poor mule! in struggling to repel
His ruthless foes, he fell
Stabb'd through; and with a bitter sighing,
He cried, 'Is this the lot they promised me?
My humble friend from danger free,
While, weltering in my gore, I'm dying?'
'My friend,' his fellow-mule replied,
'It is not well to have one's work too high.
If thou hadst been a miller's drudge, as I,
Thou wouldst not thus have died.'
Charade.
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Two words there 'are, both short, of beauty rare,
Whose sounds our lips so often love to frame,
But which with clearness never can proclaim
The things whose own peculiar stamp they bear.
'Tis well in days of age and youth so fair,
One on the other boldly to inflame;
And if those words together link'd we name,
A blissful rapture we discover there.
But now to give them pleasure do I seek,
And in myself my happiness would find;
I hope in silence, but I hope for this:
Gently, as loved one's names, those words to speak
To see them both within one image shrin'd,
Both in one being to embrace with bliss.
Guild's Signal
by Bret Harte (Francis)

Two low whistles, quaint and clear:
That was the signal the engineer
That was the signal that Guild, 'tis said
Gave to his wife at Providence,
As through the sleeping town, and thence,
Out in the night,
On to the light,
Down past the farms, lying white, he sped!
As a husband's greeting, scant, no doubt,
Yet to the woman looking out,
Watching and waiting, no serenade,
Love-song, or midnight roundelay
Said what that whistle seemed to say:
'To my trust true,
So, love, to you!
Working or waiting, good-night!' it said.
Brisk young bagmen, tourists fine,
Old commuters along the line,
Brakemen and porters glanced ahead,
Smiled as the signal, sharp, intense,
Pierced through the shadows of Providence:
'Nothing amiss
Nothing! it is
Only Guild calling his wife,' they said.
Summer and winter the old refrain
Rang o'er the billows of ripening grain,
Pierced through the budding boughs o'erhead,
Flew down the track when the red leaves burned
Like living coals from the engine spurned;
Sang as it flew,
'To our trust true,
First of all, duty. Good-night!' it said.
And then, one night, it was heard no more
From Stonington over Rhode Island shore,
And the folk in Providence smiled and said
As they turned in their beds, 'The engineer
Has once forgotten his midnight cheer.'
One only knew,
To his trust true,
Guild lay under his engine, dead.