DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
October
by Madison Julius Cawein

Far off a wind blew, and I heard
Wild echoes of the woods reply - 
The herald of some royal word,
With bannered trumpet, blown on high,
Meseemed then passed me by:
Who summoned marvels there to meet,
With pomp, upon a cloth of gold;
Where berries of the bittersweet,
That, splitting, showed the coals they hold,
Sowed garnets through the wold:
Where, under tents of maples, seeds
Of smooth carnelian, oval red,
The spice-bush spangled: where, like beads,
The dogwood's rounded rubies - fed
With fire - blazed and bled.
And there I saw amid the rout
Of months, in richness cavalier,
A minnesinger - lips apout;
A gypsy face; straight as a spear;
A rose stuck in his ear:
Eyes, sparkling like old German wine,
All mirth and moonlight; naught to spare
Of slender beard, that lent a line
To his short lip; October there,
With chestnut curling hair.
His brown baretta swept its plume
Red through the leaves; his purple hose,
Puffed at the thighs, made gleam of gloom;
His tawny doublet, slashed with rose,
And laced with crimson bows,
Outshone the wahoo's scarlet pride,
The haw, in rich vermilion dressed:
A dagger dangling at his side,
A slim lute, banded to his breast,
Whereon his hands were pressed.
I saw him come.... And, lo, to hear
The lilt of his approaching lute,
No wonder that the regnant Year
Bent down her beauty, blushing mute,
Her heart beneath his foot.
Lines.
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

1.
Far, far away, O ye
Halcyons of Memory,
Seek some far calmer nest
Than this abandoned breast!
No news of your false spring
To my heart's winter bring,
Once having gone, in vain
Ye come again.
2.
Vultures, who build your bowers
High in the Future's towers,
Withered hopes on hopes are spread!
Dying joys, choked by the dead,
Will serve your beaks for prey
Many a day.
Song.
by Madison Julius Cawein

I
Far over the summer sea,
Ere the white-eyed stars wax pale,
From the groves where a nightingale
Wails a mystical melody,
I turn my ghostly sail
Away, away,
To follow a face I see
Far over the summer sea.
II
Far over the summer sea,
Ere the cliff which highest soars
From the foam re-echoing shores
Reddens all rosily,
Where the witch-white water roars,
Far on, far on,
Thro' the night I follow thee
Far over the summer sea.
III
Far over the summer sea,
When the great gold moon low lies
In the purple-deepened skies
I drift on tearfully
Till a spirit form doth rise
Low down, low down,
'Twixt the orb'd moon and me
Far over the summer sea.
IV
Far over the summer sea
With thy foam-cold limbs wound sweet
'Round hair and throat and feet
To slay me utterly;
At each mad, hot heart beat
A kiss, a kiss,
To drain the soul with thee,
Deep, deep in the summer sea.
We Part For Ever
by George Pope Morris

Fare thee well--we part for ever!
All regrets are now in vain!
Fate decrees that we must sever,
Ne'er to meet on earth again.
Other skies may bend above thee,
Other hearts may seek thy shrine,
But no other e'er will love thee
With the constancy of mine.
Yet farewell--we part for ever!
All regrets are now in vain!
Fate decrees that we must sever,
Ne'er to meet on earth again.
Fare thee well!
Like the shadow on the dial
Lingers still our parting kiss!
Life has no severer trial,
Death no pang to equal this.
All the world is now before thee,
Every clime to roam at will,
But within the land that bore thee,
One fond heart will love thee still.
Yet farewell--we part for ever!
All regrets are now in vain!
Fate decrees that we must sever,
Ne'er to meet on earth again.
Fare thee well!
The Purple Valleys
by Madison Julius Cawein

Far in the purple valleys of illusion
I see her waiting, like the soul of music,
With deep eyes, lovelier than cerulean pansies,
Shadow and fire, yet merciless as poison;
With red lips sweeter than Arabian storax,
Yet bitterer than myrrh. O tears and kisses!
O eyes and lips, that haunt my soul for ever!
Again Spring walks transcendent on the mountains:
The woods are hushed: the vales are blue with shadows:
Above the heights, steeped in a thousand splendours,
Like some vast canvas of the gods, hangs burning
The sunset's wild sciography: and slowly
The moon treads heaven's proscenium, night's stately
White queen of love and tragedy and madness.
Again I know forgotten dreams and longings;
Ideals lost; desires dead and buried
Beside the altar sacrifice erected
Within the heart's high sanctuary. Strangely
Again I know the horror and the rapture,
The utterless awe, the joy akin to anguish,
The terror and the worship of the spirit.
Again I feel her eyes pierce through and through me;
Her deep eyes, lovelier than imperial pansies,
Velvet and flame, through which her fierce will holds me,
Powerless and tame, and draws me on and onward
To sad, unsatisfied and animal yearnings,
Wild, unrestrained the brute within the human
To fling me panting on her mouth and bosom.
Again I feel her lips like ice and fire,
Her red lips, odorous as Arabian storax,
Fragrance and fire, within whose kiss destruction
Lies serpent-like. Intoxicating languors
Resistlessly embrace me, soul and body;
And we go drifting, drifting she is laughing
Outcasts of God, into the deep's abysm.
The Welsh Sea
by James Elroy Flecker

Far out across Carnarvon bay,
Beneath the evening waves,
The ancient dead begin their day
And stream among the graves.
Listen, for they of ghostly speech,
Who died when Christ was born,
May dance upon the golden beach
That once was golden corn.
And you may learn of Dyfed's reign,
And dream Nemedian tales
Of Kings who sailed in ships from Spain
And lent their swords to Wales.
Listen, for like a golden snake
The Ocean twists and stirs,
And whispers how the dead men wake
And call across the years.
On The Death Of My Uncle, Joseph Paul.
by Eliza Paul Kirkbride Gurney

Fare thee well, fare thee well, for thy journey is o'er,
And the place that has known thee, shall know thee no more;
The eye that has seen thee, shall seek thee in vain,
And thy kindness will soothe us, oh, never again!
Yet we cannot forget thee, for, shrined in the heart,
Is the memory of virtues that will not depart, 
Generosity, candor, integrity, worth,
An assemblage of all that is lovely on earth.
Thou wert guardian, guide, and instructor to me,
And I lose, with thy children, a father in thee.
Thy children, alas! they are orphans indeed.
Who now shall direct them in seasons of need?
The smile that has blest them will bless them no more,
And approval and counsel forever are o'er.
But the angel of mercy recorded thy prayers,
And in gloom and in sunshine thy God will be theirs.
Shut Out.
by John Hartley

"The drunkard shall not enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
Far, far beyond the skies,
The land of promise lies;
When Death our souls release,
A home of love and peace,
Has been prepared for all,
Who heed the gracious call,
Drunkards that goal ne'er win, - 
They cannot enter in.
Time noiselessly flits by,
Eternity draws nigh;
Will the fleet joy you gain,
Compensate for the pain,
That through an endless day,
Will wring your soul for aye?
Slave to beer, rum, or gin,
You cannot enter in.
Dash down the flowing bowl,
Endanger not thy soul;
Ponder those words of dread,
That God Himself has said.
Hurl the vile tempter down,
And win and wear the crown,
Drunkard, forsake thy sin,
Thou mayst then enter in.
Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LXXII.
by Thomas Moore

Fare thee well, perfidious maid,
My soul, too long on earth delayed,
Delayed, perfidious girl, by thee,
Is on the wing for liberty.
I fly to seek a kindlier sphere,
Since thou hast ceased to love me here!
London Types - III. Hawker
by William Ernest Henley

Far out of bounds he's figured - in a race
Of West-End traffic pitching to his loss.
But if you'd see him in his proper place,
Making the browns for bub and grub and doss,
Go East among the merchants and their men,
And where the press is noisiest, and the tides
Of trade run highest and widest, there and then
You shall behold him, edging with equal strides
Along the kerb; hawking in either hand
Some artful nothing made of twine and tin,
Cardboard and foil and bits of rubber band:
Some penn'orth of wit-in-fact that, with a grin,
The careful City marvels at, and buys
For nurselings in the Suburbs to despise!
At Noon - And Midnight.
by James Whitcomb Riley

Far in the night, and yet no rest for him! The pillow next his own
The wife's sweet face in slumber pressed - yet he awake - alone! alone!
In vain he courted sleep; - one thought would ever in his heart arise, -
The harsh words that at noon had brought the teardrops to her eyes.
Slowly on lifted arm he raised and listened. All was still as death;
He touched her forehead as he gazed, and listened yet, with bated breath:
Still silently, as though he prayed, his lips moved lightly as she slept -
For God was with him, and he laid his face with hers and wept.
The Purple Valleys
by Madison Julius Cawein

Far in the purple valleys of illusion
I see her waiting, like the soul of music,
With deep eyes, lovelier than cerulean pansies,
Shadow and fire, yet merciless as poison;
With red lips, sweeter than Arabian storax,
Yet bitterer than myrrh.--O tears and kisses!
O eyes and lips, that haunt my soul forever!
Again Spring walks transcendent on the mountains:
The woods are hushed: the vales are blue with shadows:
Above the heights, steeped in a thousand splendors,
Like some vast canvas of the gods, hangs burning
The sunset's wild sciography: and slowly
The moon treads heaven's proscenium,--night's stately
White queen of love and tragedy and madness.
Again I know forgotten dreams and longings;
Ideals lost; desires dead and buried
Beside the altar sacrifice erected
Within the heart's high sanctuary. Strangely
Again I know the horror and the rapture,
The utterless awe, the joy akin to anguish,
The terror and the worship of the spirit.
Again I feel her eyes pierce through and through me;
Her deep eyes, lovelier than imperial pansies,
Velvet and flame, through which her fierce will holds me,
Powerless and tame, and draws me on and onward
To sad, unsatisfied and animal yearnings,
Wild, unrestrained--the brute within the human--
To fling me panting on her mouth and bosom.
Again I feel her lips like ice and fire,
Her red lips, odorous as Arabian storax,
Fragrance and fire, within whose kiss destruction
Lies serpent-like. Intoxicating languors
Resistlessly embrace me, soul and body;
And we go drifting, drifting--she is laughing--
Outcasts of God, into the deep's abysm.
Fare The Well, Love.
by George Pope Morris

Fare thee well, love!--We must sever!
Nor for years, love; but for ever!
We must meet no more--or only
Meet as strangers--sad and lonely.
Fare thee well!
Fare thee well, love!--How I languish
For the cause of all my anguish!
None have ever met and parted
So forlorn and broken-hearted.
Fare thee well!
Fare thee well, love--Till I perish
All my truth for thee I'll cherish;
And, when thou my requiem hearest,
Know till death I loved thee, dearest.
Fare thee well!
Constant Cannibal Maiden, The
by Wallace Irwin

Far, oh, far is the Mango island,
Far, oh, far is the tropical sea,
Palms a-slant and the hills a-smile, and
A cannibal maiden a-waiting for me.
I've been deceived by a damsel Spanish,
And Indian maidens both red and brown,
A black-eyed Turk and a blue-eyed Danish,
And a Puritan lassie of Salem town.
For the Puritan Prue she sets in the offing,
A-castin' 'er eyes at a tall marine,
And the Spanish minx is the wust at scoffing
Of all of the wimming I ever seen.
But the cannibal maid is a simple creetur,
With a habit of gazin' over the sea,
A-hopin' in vain for the day I'll meet 'er,
And constant and faithful a-yearnin' for me.
Me Turkish sweetheart she played me double,
Eloped with the Sultan Harum In-Deed,
And the Danish damsel she made me trouble
When she ups and married an oblong Swede.
But there's truth in the heart of the maid o' Mango,
Though her cheeks is black like the kiln-baked cork,
As she sets in the shade o' the whingo-whango,
A-waitin' for me, with a knife and fork.
His Farewell To Sack.
by Robert Herrick

Farewell thou thing, time past so known, so dear
To me as blood to life and spirit; near,
Nay, thou more near than kindred, friend, man, wife,
Male to the female, soul to body; life
To quick action, or the warm soft side
Of the resigning, yet resisting bride.
The kiss of virgins, first fruits of the bed,
Soft speech, smooth touch, the lips, the maidenhead:
These and a thousand sweets could never be
So near or dear as thou wast once to me.
O thou, the drink of gods and angels! wine
That scatter'st spirit and lust, whose purest shine
More radiant than the summer's sunbeams shows;
Each way illustrious, brave, and like to those
Comets we see by night, whose shagg'd portents
Foretell the coming of some dire events,
Or some full flame which with a pride aspires,
Throwing about his wild and active fires;
'Tis thou, above nectar, O divinest soul!
Eternal in thyself, that can'st control
That which subverts whole nature, grief and care,
Vexation of the mind, and damn'd despair.
'Tis thou alone who, with thy mystic fan,
Work'st more than wisdom, art, or nature can
To rouse the sacred madness and awake
The frost-bound blood and spirits, and to make
Them frantic with thy raptures flashing through
The soul like lightning, and as active too.
'Tis not Apollo can, or those thrice three
Castalian sisters, sing, if wanting thee.
Horace, Anacreon, both had lost their fame,
Had'st thou not fill'd them with thy fire and flame.
Ph[oe]bean splendour! and thou, Thespian spring!
Of which sweet swans must drink before they sing
Their true-pac'd numbers and their holy lays,
Which makes them worthy cedar and the bays.
But why, why longer do I gaze upon
Thee with the eye of admiration?
Since I must leave thee, and enforc'd must say
To all thy witching beauties, Go, away.
But if thy whimpering looks do ask me why,
Then know that nature bids thee go, not I.
'Tis her erroneous self has made a brain
Uncapable of such a sovereign
As is thy powerful self. Prithee not smile,
Or smile more inly, lest thy looks beguile
My vows denounc'd in zeal, which thus much show thee
That I have sworn but by thy looks to know thee.
Let others drink thee freely, and desire
Thee and their lips espous'd, while I admire
And love thee, but not taste thee. Let my muse
Fail of thy former helps, and only use
Her inadult'rate strength: what's done by me
Hereafter shall smell of the lamp, not thee.
Farewell
by Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson)

Farewell, Aziz, it was not mine to fold you
Against my heart for any length of days.
I had no loveliness, alas, to hold you,
No siren voice, no charm that lovers praise.
Yet, in the midst of grief and desolation,
Solace I my despairing soul with this:
Once, for my life's eternal consolation,
You lent my lips your loveliness to kiss.
Ah, that one night!    I think Love's very essence
Distilled itself from out my joy and pain,
Like tropical trees, whose fervid inflorescence
Glows, gleams, and dies, never to bloom again.
Often I marvel how I met the morning
With living eyes after that night with you,
Ah, how I cursed the wan, white light for dawning,
And mourned the paling stars, as each withdrew!
Yet I, even I, who am less than dust before you,
Less than the lowest lintel of your door,
Was given one breathless midnight, to adore you.
Fate, having granted this, can give no more!
Stanzas.[1]
by Thomas Hood

Farewell, Life! My senses swim,
And the world is growing dim;
Thronging shadows cloud the light,
Like the advent of the night, - 
Colder, colder, colder still,
Upward steals a vapor chill - 
Strong the earthy odor grows - 
I smell the mould above the rose!
Welcome, Life! the Spirit strives!
Strength returns, and hope revives;
Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn
Fly like shadows at the morn, - 
O'er the earth there comes a bloom - 
Sunny light for sullen gloom,
Warm perfume for vapor cold - 
smell the rose above the mould!
February 1845.
Parting
by Abram Joseph Ryan

Farewell! that word has broken hearts
And blinded eyes with tears;
Farewell! one stays, and one departs;
Between them roll the years.
No wonder why who say it think --
Farewell! he may fare ill
No wonder that their spirits sink
And all their hopes grow chill.
Good-bye! that word makes faces pale
And fills the soul with fears;
Good-bye! two words that wing a wail
Which flutters down the years.
No wonder they who say it feel
Such pangs for those who go;
Good-bye they wish the parted weal,
But ah! they may meet woe.
Adieu! such is the word for us,
'Tis more than word -- 'tis prayer;
They do not part, who do part thus,
For God is everywhere.
Farewell, farewell! Her vans the vessel tries
by Arthur Hugh Clough

Farewell, farewell! Her vans the vessel tries,
His iron might the potent engine plies:
Haste, winged words, and ere 'tis useless, tell,
Farewell, farewell, yet once again, farewell.
The docks, the streets, the houses past us fly,
Without a strain the great ship marches by;
Ye fleeting banks take up the words we tell,
And say for us yet once again, farewell.
The waters widen, on without a strain
The strong ship moves upon the open main;
She knows the seas, she hears the true waves swell,
She seems to say farewell, again farewell.
The billows whiten and the deep seas heave;
Fly once again, sweet words, to her I leave,
With winds that blow return, and seas that swell,
Farewell, farewell, say once again, farewell.
Fresh in my face and rippling to my feet
The winds and waves an answer soft repeat,
In sweet, sweet words far brought they seem to tell,
Farewell, farewell, yet once again, farewell.
Night gathers fast; adieu, thou fading shore!
The land we look for next must lie before;
Hence, foolish tears! weak thoughts, no more rebel,
Farewell, farewell, a last, a last farewell.
Yet not, indeed, ah not till more than sea
And more than space divide my love and me,
Till more than waves and winds between us swell,
Farewell, a last, indeed, a last farewell.
The King
by Rudyard Kipling

"Farewell, Romance!" the Cave-men said;
"With bone well carved He went away,
Flint arms the ignoble arrowhead,
And jasper tips the spear to-day.
Changed are the Gods of Hunt and Dance,
And He with these. Farewell, Romance!"
"Farewell, Romance!" the Lake-folk sighed;
"We lift the weight of flatling years;
The caverns of the mountain-side
Hold him who scorns our hutted piers.
Lost hills whereby we dare not dwell,
Guard ye his rest. Romance, farewell!"
"Farewell, Romance!" the Soldier spoke;
"By sleight of sword we may not win,
But scuffle 'mid uncleanly smoke
Of arquebus and culverin.
Honour is lost, and none may tell
Who paid good blows. Romance, farewell!"
"Farewell, Romance!" the Traders cried;
"Our keels have lain with every sea;
The dull-returning wind and tide
Heave up the wharf where we would be;
The known and noted breezes swell
Our trudging sails. Romance, farewell!"
"Good-bye, Romance!" the Skipper said;
"He vanished with the coal we burn.
Our dial marks full-steam ahead,
Our speed is timed to half a turn.
Sure as the ferried barge we ply
'Twixt port and port. Romance, good-bye!"
"Romance!" the season-tickets mourn,
"He never ran to catch His train,
But passed with coach and guard and horn,
And left the local, late again!"
Confound Romance!... And all unseen
Romance brought up the nine-fifteen.
His hand was on the lever laid,
His oil-can soothed the worrying cranks,
His whistle waked the snowbound grade,
His fog-horn cut the reeking Banks;
By dock and deep and mine and mill
The Boy-god reckless laboured still!
Robed, crowned and throned, He wove His spell,
Where heart-blood beat or hearth-smoke curled,
With unconsidered miracle,
Hedged in a backward-gazing world;
Then taught His chosen bard to say:
"Our King was with us, yesterday!"
After A Parting
by Alice Christiana Gertrude Thompson Meynell

Farewell has long been said; I have forgone thee;
I never name thee even.
But how shall I learn virtues and yet shun thee?
For thou art so near Heaven
That heavenward meditations pause upon thee.
Thou dost beset the path to every shrine;
My trembling thoughts discern
Thy goodness in the good for which I pine;
And if I turn from but one sin, I turn
Unto a smile of thine.
How shall I thrust thee apart
Since all my growth tends to thee night and day-
To thee faith, hope, and art?
Swift are the currents setting all one way;
They draw my life, my life, out of my heart.
Claud Halcro's Song
by Walter Scott (Sir)

Farewell to Northmaven,
Grey Hillswicke, farewell!
The storms on thy haven,
The storms on thy fell,
To each breeze that can vary
The mood of thy main,
And to thee, bonny Mary!
We meet not again!
Farewell the wild ferry,
Which Hacon could brave,
When the peaks of the Skerry
Where white in the wave.
There's a maid may look over
These wild waves in vain,
For the skiff of her lover,
He comes not again!
The vows thou hast broke,
On the wild currents fling them;
On the quicksand and rock
Let the mermaidens sing them.
New sweetness they'll give her
Bewildering strain;
But there's one who will never
Believe them again.
O were there an island,
Though ever so wild,
Where woman could smile, and
No man be beguiled,
Too tempting a snare
To poor mortals were given;
And the hope would fix there,
That should anchor in heaven.
Farewell!--But Whenever You Welcome The Hour.
by Thomas Moore

Farewell!--but whenever you welcome the hour.
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower,
Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too,
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you.
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain
Of the few that have brightened his pathway of pain.
But he ne'er will forget the short vision, that threw
Its enchantment around him, while lingering with you.
And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night;
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me, beaming all o'er with your smiles--
Too blest, if it tells me that, mid the gay cheer
Some kind voice had murmured, "I wish he were here!"
Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy;
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories filled!
Like the vase, in which roses have once been distilled--
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
Poems From "A Shropshire Lad" - VIII
by Alfred Edward Housman

"Farewell to barn and stack and tree,
Farewell to Severn shore.
Terence, look your last at me,
For I come home no more.
"The sun burns on the half-mown hill,
By now the blood is dried;
And Maurice amongst the hay lies still
And my knife is in his side."
"My mother thinks us long away;
'Tis time the field were mown.
She had two sons at rising day,
To-night she'll be alone."
"And here's a bloody hand to shake,
And oh, man, here's good-bye;
We'll sweat no more on scythe and rake,
My bloody hands and I."
"I wish you strength to bring you pride,
And a love to keep you clean,
And I wish you luck, come Lammastide,
At racing on the green."
"Long for me the rick will wait,
And long will wait the fold,
And long will stand the empty plate,
And dinner will be cold."
To John Kennedy.
by Robert Burns

Farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit you,
And 'mang her favourites admit you!
If e'er Detraction shore to smit you,
May nane believe him!
And ony deil that thinks to get you,
Good Lord deceive him!
R. B.
Kilmarnock, August, 1786
Lines Composed For A Memorial Of Ashley Cowper, Esq. Immediately After His Death, By His Nephew William Of Weston.
by William Cowper

Farewell! endued with all that could engage
All hearts to love thee, both in youth and age!
In prime of life, for sprightliness enroll'd
Among the gay, yet virtuous as the old;
In life's last stage (O blessings rarely found!),
Pleasant as youth with all its blossoms crown'd;
Through every period of this changeful state
Unchanged thyself'wise, good, affectionate!
Marble may flatter, and lest this should seem
O'ercharged with praises on so dear a theme,
Although thy worth be more than half supprest,
Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest.