DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
A Song
by Barcroft Boake

I've a kiss from a warmer lover
Than maiden earth can be:
She blew it up to the skies above her,
And now it has come to me;
From the far-away it has come today
With a breath of the old salt sea.
She lay and laughed on a lazy billow,
Far away on the deep,
Who had gathered the froth for my lady's pillow
Gathered a sparkling heap;
And the ocean's cry was the lullaby
That cradled my love to sleep.
Far away on the blue Pacific
There doth my lady roam,
That is oft-times gay, but as oft terrific:
Her jewels are beads of foam:
In a coral cave, where a blue-green wave
Keeps guard, is my lady's home.
She claps her hands, and her henchman hurries
West of the sunset sheen:
'Tis he who comes when a mist-wrack scurries,
Skirting the deep ravine;
And my heart is stirred by the loving word
He carries me from my queen.
A drop distilled from a lotos flower
That is the magic key
To unlock the cage, and my soul has power
To gather itself and flee,
At my love's behest, where she waits her guest
In a palace beneath the sea.
Joy is ours that is almost anguish:
Pain that is almost sweet:
We kiss; and the ocean creatures languish
Jealously at our feet;
The sight grows dim, and the senses swim
When I and my lady greet.
There to dream, while the soul is swooning
Under a woven spell
Hushed to sleep by her tender crooning
Learnt from the ocean swell
There to rest on her jewelled breast,
To love and be loved as well!
Ben Duggan
by Henry Lawson

Jack Denver died on Talbragar when Christmas Eve began,
And there was sorrow round the place, for Denver was a man;
Jack Denver's wife bowed down her head, her daughter's grief was wild,
And big Ben Duggan by the bed stood sobbing like a child.
But big Ben Duggan saddled up, and galloped fast and far,
To raise the longest funeral ever seen on Talbragar.
By station home
And shearing shed
Ben Duggan cried, `Jack Denver's dead!
Roll up at Talbragar!'
He borrowed horses here and there, and rode all Christmas Eve,
And scarcely paused a moment's time the mournful news to leave;
He rode by lonely huts and farms, and when the day was done
He turned his panting horse's head and rode to Ross's Run.
No bushman in a single day had ridden half so far
Since Johnson brought the doctor to his wife at Talbragar.
By diggers' camps
Ben Duggan sped,
At each he cried, `Jack Denver's dead!
Roll up at Talbragar!'
That night he passed the humpies of the splitters on the ridge,
And roused the bullock-drivers camped at Belinfante's Bridge;
And as he climbed the ridge again the moon shone on the rise;
The soft white moonbeams glistened in the tears that filled his eyes;
He dashed the rebel drops away, for blinding things they are,
But 'twas his best and truest friend who died on Talbragar.
At Blackman's Run
Before the dawn,
Ben Duggan cried, `Poor Denver's gone!
Roll up at Talbragar!'
At all the shanties round the place they'd heard his horse's tramp,
He took the track to Wilson's Luck, and told the diggers' camp;
But in the gorge by Deadman's Gap the mountain shades were black,
And there a newly-fallen tree was lying on the track,
He saw too late, and then he heard the swift hoof's sudden jar,
And big Ben Duggan ne'er again rode home to Talbragar.
`The wretch is drunk,
And Denver's dead,
A burning shame!' the people said
Next day at Talbragar.
For thirty miles round Talbragar the boys rolled up in strength,
And Denver had a funeral a good long mile in length;
Round Denver's grave that Christmas day rough bushmen's eyes were dim,
The western bushmen knew the way to bury dead like him;
But some returning homeward found, by light of moon and star,
Ben Duggan dying in the rocks, five miles from Talbragar.
They knelt around,
He raised his head
And faintly gasped, `Jack Denver's dead,
Roll up at Talbragar!'
But one short hour before he died he woke to understand,
They told him, when he asked them, that the funeral was `grand';
And then there came into his eyes a strange victorious light,
He smiled on them in triumph, and his great soul took its flight.
And still the careless bushmen tell by tent and shanty bar
How Duggan raised a funeral years back on Talbragar.
And far and wide
When Duggan died,
The bushmen of the western side
Rode in to Talbragar.
Paddy's Letter, 1857
by Banjo Paterson (Andrew Barton)

I've had all sorts of luck, sometimes bad, sometimes better,
But now I have somebody's luck and my own,
For I stooped in the street and I picked up a letter,
Which some one had written to send away home.
The old adage says, 'What you find, you may keep it,'
And as most of these old sayings are very true,
I straight broke the seal, and then having read it,
The contents of this letter I tell unto you.
The Letter
Dear Dermot, I hope when this letter gets to you
'Twill find you in health, as now it leaves me;
But I hope you're more happy than I am in Australia'
If not, it's small comfort that you have, achree!
Hard fortune's been mine since crossing the line,
Though that same I ne'er saw, for we crossed it at night;
But they say 'twas laid down at expense of the Crown,
To divide the wrong side of the world from the right.
But what should a boy placed in my situation
Know about lines laid across the big sea!
But, faith, this I know, and without navigation,
I'm at the wrong side of the line, anyway.
I'm telling you now how strange seasons fall.
We have here rain and sleet in the month of July,
And hailstones as big as a small cannon-ball'
And they do as much harm'not a word of a lie!
But the making of magistrates now all the rage is,
And every flockmaster's a justice of peace;
They find it so easy to cancel the wages,
The law is their own and they rob whom they please.
Pat Murphy's boy Tim, that married Moll Casey,
Lives on the Barcoo that's away in the bush.
Himself and the wife, why they lived mighty aisy,
Till one day on Tim, oh, the blacks they did rush.
They killed little Paddy, but spared the young baby,
Because it was sickly'I think it was that'
And while Molly was crying, a gin said, 'No habbie
Your thin picaninny'well wait till it's fat.'
'Tis a beautiful country to practise economy.
Though the houses out here are not quite waterproof,
But they're illigant houses for studying astronomy'
You can lie on your back and read stars through the roof
P.S.'This is cramped'if there's no one to read it,
Send for Tim Murphy, he'll know every stroke.
Ye all have my blessing, I know that yell need it,
So no more at present from Teddy O'Rourke.
The Stringy-Bark Cockatoo
by Banjo Paterson (Andrew Barton)

I'm a broken-hearted miner, who loves his cup to drain,
Which often times has caused me to lie in frost and rain.
Roaming about the country, looking for some work to do,
I got a job of reaping off a stringy-bark cockatoo.
Chorus
Oh, the stringy-bark cockatoo,
Oh, the stringy-bark cockatoo,
I got a job of reaping off a stringy-bark cockatoo.
Ten bob an acre was his price'with promise of fairish board.
He said his crops were very light, 'twas all he could afford.
He drove me out in a bullock dray, and his piggery met my view.
Oh, the pigs and geese were in the wheat of the stringy-bark cockatoo.
Chorus: Oh, the stringy-bark, &c.
The hut was made of the surface mud, the roof of a reedy thatch.
The doors and windows open flew without a bolt or latch.
The pigs and geese were in the hut, the hen on the table flew,
And she laid an egg in the old tin plate for the stringy-bark cockatoo.
Chorus: Oh, the stringy-bark, &c.
For breakfast we had pollard, boys, it tasted like cobbler's paste.
To help it down we had to eat brown bread with vinegar taste.
The tea was made of the native hops, which out on the ranges grew;
'Twas sweetened with honey bees and wax for the stringy-bark cockatoo.
Chorus: Oh, the stringy-bark, &c.
For dinner we had goanna hash, we thought it mighty hard;
They wouldn't give us butter, so we forced down bread and lard.
Quondong duff, paddy-melon pie, and wallaby Irish stew
We used to eat while reaping for the stringy-bark cockatoo.
Chorus: Oh, the stringy-bark, &c.
When we started to cut the rust and smut was just beginning to shed,
And all we had to sleep on was a dog and sheep-skin bed.
The bugs and fleas tormented me, they made me scratch and screw;
I lost my rest while reaping for the stringy-bark cockatoo.
Chorus: Oh, the stringy-bark, &c.
At night when work was over I'd nurse the youngest child,
And when I'd say a joking word, the mother would laugh and smile.
The old cocky, he grew jealous, and he thumped me black and blue,
And he drove me off without a rap'the stringy-bark cockatoo.
Chorus: Oh, the stringy-bark, &c.
Nursery Rhyme. CCC. Games.
by Unknown

Jack be nimble,
And Jack be quick:
And Jack jump over
The candle-stick.
Nursery Rhyme. CLV. Songs.
by Unknown

Jacky, come give me thy fiddle,
If ever thou mean to thrive:
Nay; I'll not give my fiddle
To any man alive.
If I should give my fiddle,
They'll think that I'm gone mad;
For many a joyful day
My fiddle and I have had.
Flash Jack From Gundagai
by Banjo Paterson (Andrew Barton)

I've shore at Burrabogie, and I've shore at Toganmain,
I've shore at big Willandra and upon the old Coleraine,
But before the shearin' was over I've wished myself back, again
Shearin' for old Tom Patterson, on the One Tree Plain.
Chorus
All among the wool, boys,
Keep your wide blades full, boys,
I can do a respectable tally myself whenever I like to try,
But they know me round the back blocks as Flash Jack from Gundagai.
I've shore at big Willandra and I've shore at Tilberoo,
And once I drew my blades, my boys, upon the famed Barcoo,
At Cowan Downs and Trida, as far as Moulamein,
But I always was glad to get back again to the One Tree Plain.
Chorus: All among the wool, &c.
I've pinked 'em with the Wolseleys and I've rushed with B-bows, too,
And shaved 'em in the grease, my boys, with the grass seed showing through.
But I never slummed my pen, my lads, whate'er it might contain,
While shearin' for old Tom Patterson, on the One Tree Plain.
I've been whalin' up the Lachlan, and I've dossed on Cooper's Creek,
And once I rung Cudjingie shed, and blued it in a week.
But when Gabriel blows his trumpet, lads, I'll catch the morning train,
And I'll push for old Tom Patterson's, on the One Tree Plain.
Pig, The
by Robert Southey

A COLLOQUIAL POEM
Jacob! I do not like to see thy nose
Turn'd up in scornful curve at yonder pig,
It would be well, my friend, if we like him,
Were perfect in our kind!... And why despise
The sow-born grunter?... He is obstinate,
Thou answerest; ugly, and the filthiest beast
That banquets upon offal.... Now I pray you
Hear the pig's counsel.
Is he obstinate?
We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words;
We must not take them as unheeding hands
Receive base money at the current worth
But with a just suspicion try their sound,
And in the even balance weight them well
See now to what this obstinacy comes:
A poor, mistreated, democratic beast,
He knows that his unmerciful drivers seek
Their profit, and not his. He hath not learned
That pigs were made for man,... born to be brawn'd
And baconized: that he must please to give
Just what his gracious masters please to take;
Perhaps his tusks, the weapons Nature gave
For self-defense, the general privilege;
Perhaps,... hark, Jacob! dost thou hear that horn?
Woe to the young posterity of Pork!
Their enemy is at hand.
Again. Thou say'st
The pig is ugly. Jacob, look at him!
Those eyes have taught the lover flattery.
His face,... nay, Jacob! Jacob! were it fair
To judge a lady in her dishabille?
Fancy it dressed, and with saltpeter rouged.
Behold his tail, my friend; with curls like that
The wanton hop marries her stately spouse:
So crisp in beauty Amoretta's hair
Rings round her lover's soul the chains of love.
And what is beauty, but the aptitude
Of parts harmonious? Give thy fancy scope,
And thou wilt find that no imagined change
Can beautify this beast. Place at his end
The starry glories of the peacock's pride,
Give him the swan's white breast; for his horn-hoofs
Shape such a foot and ankle as the waves
Crowded in eager rivalry to kiss
When Venus from the enamor'd sea arose;...
Jacob, thou canst but make a monster of him!
An alteration man could think, would mar
His pig-perfection.
The last charge,... he lives
A dirty life. Here I could shelter him
With noble and right-reverend precedents.
And show by sanction of authority
That 'tis a very honorable thing
To thrive by dirty ways. But let me rest
On better ground the unanswerable defense.
The pig is a philosopher, who knows
No prejudice. Dirt?... Jacob, what is dirt?
If matter,... why the delicate dish that tempts
An o'ergorged epicure to the last morsel
That stuffs him to the throat-gates, is no more.
If matter be not, but as sages say,
Spirit is all, and all things visible
Are one, the infinitely modified,
Think, Jacob, what that pig is, and the mire
Wherein he stands knee-deep!
And there! the breeze
Pleads with me, and has won thee to a smile
That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossom'd field
Of beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise.
The Hero
by Siegfried Loraine Sassoon

"Jack fell as he'd have wished," the Mother said,
And folded up the letter that she'd read.
"The Colonel writes so nicely." Something broke
In the tired voice that quavered to a choke.
She half looked up. "We mothers are so proud
Of our dead soldiers." Then her face was bowed.
Quietly the Brother Officer went out.
He'd told the poor old dear some gallant lies
That she would nourish all her days, no doubt.
For while he coughed and mumbled, her weak eyes
Had shone with gentle triumph, brimmed with joy,
Because he'd been so brave, her glorious boy.
He thought how "Jack," cold-footed, useless swine,
Had panicked down the trench that night the mine
Went up at Wicked Corner; how he'd tried
To get sent home; and how, at last, he died,
Blown to small bits. And no one seemed to care
Except that lonely woman with white hair.
Jack And Jill
by Walter Crane

Jack and Jill went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water;
Jack fell down and broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after.
The Living Beauty
by William Butler Yeats

I'll say and maybe dream I have drawn content'
Seeing that time has frozen up the blood,
The wick of youth being burned and the oil spent'
From beauty that is cast out of a mould
In bronze, or that in dazzling marble appears,
Appears, and when we have gone is gone again,
Being more indifferent to our solitude
Than 'twere an apparition. O heart, we are old,
The living beauty is for younger men,
We cannot pay its tribute of wild tears.
Nursery Rhyme. CXLIV. Songs.
by Unknown

Jeanie come tie my,
Jeanie come tie my,
Jeanie come tie my bonnie cravat;
I've tied it behind,
I've tied it before,
And I've tied it so often, I'll tie it no more.
Jenny Kissed Me
by James Henry Leigh Hunt

Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kissed me.
Mary Lemaine
by Henry Lawson

Jim Duff was a 'native,'as wild as could be;
A stealer and duffer of cattle was he,
But back in his youth he had stolen a pearl 
Or a diamond rather the heart of a girl;
She served with a squatter who lived on the plain,
And the name of the girl it was Mary Lemaine.
'Twas a drear, rainy day and the twilight was done,
When four mounted troopers rode up to the run.
They spoke to the squatter he asked them all in.
The homestead was small and the walls they were thin;
And in the next room, with a cold in her head,
Our Mary was sewing on buttons in bed.
She heard a few words, but those words were enough 
The troopers were all on the track of Jim Duff.
The super, his rival, was planning a trap
To capture the scamp in Maginnis's Gap.
'I've warned him before, and I'll do it again; 
I'll save him to-night,' whispered Mary Lemaine.
No petticoat job there was no time to waste,
The suit she was mending she slipped on in haste,
And five minutes later they gathered in force,
But Mary was off, on the squatter's best horse;
With your hand on your heart, just to deaden the pain,
Ride hard to the ranges, brave Mary Lemaine!
She rode by the ridges all sullen and strange,
And far up long gullies that ran through the range,
Till the rain cleared away, and the tears in her eyes
Caught the beams of the moon from Maginnis's Rise.
A fire in the depths of the gums she espied,
'Who's there?' shouted Jim. 'It is Mary!'she cried.
Next morning the sun rose in splendour again,
And two loving sinners rode out on the plain.
And baffled, and angry, and hungry and damp,
The four mounted troopers rode back to the camp.
But they hushed up the business the reason is plain,
They all had been 'soft' on fair Mary Lemaine.
The squatter got back all he lost from his mob,
And old Sergeant Kennedy winked at the job.
Jim Duff keeps a shanty far out in the west,
And the sundowners call it the 'Bushranger's Rest.'
But the bushranger lives a respectable life,
And the law never troubles Jim Duff or his wife,
Translations. - Christmas. (Luther's Song-Book.)
by George MacDonald

Jesus we now must laud and sing,
The maiden Mary's son and king,
Far as the blessed sun doth shine,
And reaches to earth's utmost line.[1]
[Footnote 1: Luther's own construction.]
The blessed maker of all we view
On him a servant's body drew,
The flesh to save at flesh's cost,
Else his creation had been lost.
From heaven high the Godlike grace
In the chaste mother found a place;
A secret pledge a maiden bore--
A thing to earth unknown before.
The tender heart, house modest, low,
Straightway a temple of God did grow:
Whom never man hath touched or known
By God's word she with child is grown.
The noble mother hath brought forth
Whom Gabriel promised to the earth;
Him John did greet in joyous way
While in his mother's womb he lay.
Right poorly lies in hay the boy;
Th' hard manger him did not annoy;
A little milk made him content
Away who no bird hungry sent.
Therefore the heavenly choir is loud;
The angels sing their praise to God,
And tell poor men their flocks who keep
He's come who made and keeps their sheep.
Praise, honour, thanks, to thee be said,
Christ Jesus, born of holy maid!
With God the Father and Holy Ghost,
Now and for ever, ending not. Amen!
Jesus, Do I Love Thee?
by Christina Georgina Rossetti

(Lyra Eucharistica, second edition, 1864.)
Jesus, do I love Thee?
Thou art far above me,
Seated out of sight
Hid in Heavenly Light
Of most highest height.
Martyred hosts implore Thee,
Seraphs fall before Thee,
Angels and Archangels,
Cherub throngs adore Thee;
Blessed She that bore Thee!
All the Saints approve Thee,
All the Virgins love Thee.
I show as a blot
Blood hath cleansed not,
As a barren spot
In Thy fruitful lot.
I, fig-tree fruit-unbearing;
Thou, righteous Judge unsparing:
What canst Thou do more to me
That shall not more undo me?
Thy Justice hath a sound - 
Why cumbereth it the ground?
Thy Love with stirrings stronger
Pleads - Give it one year longer.
Thou giv'st me time: but who
Save Thou shall give me dew;
Shall feed my root with Blood,
And stir my sap for good?
Oh, by Thy Gifts that shame me,
Give more lest they condemn me:
Good Lord, I ask much of Thee,
But most I ask to love Thee;
Kind Lord, be mindful of me,
Love me, and make me love Thee.
Rondeau
by James Henry Leigh Hunt

Jenny kiss'd me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and welth have miss'd me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kiss'd me.
John Cornstalk
by Henry Lawson

John Cornstalk lives in the Southern Land,
What says Cornstalk John?
Jack Cornstalk says in a loud firm voice:
'Land of the South, lead on.'
CHORUS:
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Land of the South, lead on!
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Lead on, Land of the South!
John Bull lays claim to the Southern Land.
Jack, is the South Land thine?
John Cornstalk cries in a loud, firm voice:
'The Land of the South is mine!'
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Land of the South, lead on!
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Lead on, Land of the South!
'By the long, long years my father toiled
In the pioneering band;
By the hardships of those early days,
I claim the Southern Land!'
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Land of the South, lead on!
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Lead on, Land of the South!
But where shall the Land of the South lead to?
Where lead the nation's van?
Jack Cornstalk cries from his strong young heart:
'To the Dynasty of Man.'
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Land of the South, lead on!
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Lead on, Land of the South!
On Joan.
by Robert Herrick

Joan would go tell her hairs; and well she might,
Having but seven in all: three black, four white.
Jehovah-Shalom. The Lord Send Peace. - Judges vi.24.
by William Cowper

Jesus, whose blood so freely stream'd,
To satisfy the law's demand;
By thee from guilt and wrath redeem'd,
Before the Father's face I stand.
To reconcile offending man,
Make Justice drop her angry rod;
What creature could have form'd the plan,
Or who fulfil it but a God?
No drop remains of all the curse,
For wretches who deserved the whole;
No arrows dipt in wrath to pierce
The guilty but returning soul.
Peace by such means so dearly bought,
What rebel could have hoped to see?
Peace, by his injured Sovereign wrought,
His Sovereign fasten'd to a tree.
Now, Lord, thy feeble worm prepare!
For strife with earth and hell begins;
Confirm and guard me for the war,
They hate the soul that hates his sins.
Let them in horrid league agree!
They may assault, they may distress;
But cannot quench thy love to me,
Nor rob me of the Lord, my peace.
The Monkey And The Cat.
by Jean de La Fontaine

Jocko the Monkey, Mouser - his chum, the Cat,
Had the same master. Both were sleek and fat,
And mischievous. If anything went wrong,
The neighbors where not blamed. Be sure of that.
Jocko, 'tis said was something of a thief;
Mouser, if truth be told, would just as lief
Much stolen cheese as chase the midnight mouse.
The praise bestowed on either must be brief.
One day these rogues, stretched flat before the fire,
Saw chestnuts roassting. "Ah! Could we conspire
To jerk them out," said Jocko, "from the coals,
We'd smash the shells and have our heart's desire.
"Come, Brother Mouser! This day 'tis your turn
To do some bold and desperate thing to earn
A reputation. You, who are so quick,
Snatch out the nuts before they start to burn.
"Alas! That I, a Monkey, was not made
To play with fire. But you are not afraid."
So Mouser - pleased, like many a cat or man,
With pretty words - sly Jocko's wish obeyed.
Into the fire he put a practiced paw:
Out came a chestnut clinging to his claw - 
Another and another. As they dropped
Jocko devoured them, whether roast or raw.
A servant enters. Off the robbers run.
Jocko, you may be sure, enjoyed the fun.
But Mouser's paw is sadly singed - for what?
Just to get nuts for Jocko. He got none.
Joan Cudgels Ned
by Jonathan Swift

Joan cudgels Ned, yet Ned's a bully;
Will cudgels Bess, yet Will's a cully.
Die Ned and Bess; give Will to Joan,
She dares not say her life's her own.
Die Joan and Will; give Bess to Ned,
And every day she combs his head.
No Other Name
by Pamela S. Vining, (J. C. Yule)

"For there is none other name under heaven, given among men, whereby we must be saved."
Jesus! the only name that's given,
Through which salvation we may claim;
This, this alone, we breathe to Heaven,
For God accepts no other name.
No other name when skies are bright.
And sunshine glows on field and flower;
No other name when, dark as night,
The heavy clouds tempestuous lower.
No other name when, drooping low,
O'erburdened by sin's heavy load,
The contrite spirit pines to know
The way to hope, to Heaven, to God.
No other name when, like a flood,
Temptations beat upon the soul;
Faith, breathing that one name to God,
The raging billows shall control.
In peace or conflict, toil or rest,
In wealth or want, in praise or blame,
Still wear it graven on thy breast,
And, dying, plead no other name!