DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
Commemorative Of A Naval Victory
by Herman Melville

Sailors there are of the gentlest breed,
Yet strong, like every goodly thing;
The discipline of arms refines,
And the wave gives tempering.
The damasked blade its beam can fling;
It lends the last grave grace:
The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman
In Titian's picture for a king,
Are of hunter or warrior race.
In social halls a favored guest
In years that follow victory won,
How sweet to feel your festal fame
In woman's glance instinctive thrown:
Repose is yours--your deed is known,
It musks the amber wine;
It lives, and sheds a light from storied days
Rich as October sunsets brown,
Which make the barren place to shine.
But seldom the laurel wreath is seen
Unmixed with pensive pansies dark;
There's a light and a shadow on every man
Who at last attains his lifted mark--
Nursing through night the ethereal spark.
Elate he never can be;
He feels that spirit which glad had hailed his worth,
Sleep in oblivion.--The shark
Glides white through the phosphorus sea.
Saint Nicholas.
by Richard Hunter

Saint Nicholas brings presents
For little girls and boys;
Saint Nicholas brings dozens
Of all the nicest toys.
Hang out your biggest stocking
Before you go to sleep;
But if you hear him coming,
You mustn't even peep.
Judgment Day
by Ellis Parker Butler

Saint Peter stood, at Heaven's gate,
All souls claims to adjudicate
Saying to some souls, "Enter in!"
"Go to Hell," to others, "you are steeped in sin."
When up from earth, with a great hubbub,
Came all the members of the Tuscarora Club.
The angel Gabriel, peering out,
Said, "What, the devil, is this noise about?"
"Gabe," said Peter, "There's always lots of noise,
At any get-together of the Tuscarora boys,
Those are anglers and they all tell lies
About the trout that got away, their fierceness and their size,
They want to enter Heaven, for our brooks are full of trout,
But I won't have any liars, and I'll keep the whole gang out;
No liars enter Heaven, and I'll most distinctly tell
The whole danged Tuscarora Club, it has to go to Hell."
Then, at a little distance from the precious pearly gate,
The Tuscarora fellows paused to talk and cogitate;
One Barr said this, one Barr said that, McAlpin had his say,
But foxy Charley Roberts said, "This is the only way,
"You'd best leave this to me," he said. "Just let me handle Pete
and in a trice we'll be inside upon the golden street;
I'll show him that he's one of us, because he used to be,
Himself, a brother fisher, in the Sea of Gallilee,
And I move you, Mr. President, we make the poor old dub
An honorary member of the Tuscarora Club."
"Agreed! Agreed!" the members cried, but Manny Barr said, "Wait!
Amend it thus 'PROVIDED, That he didn't fish with bait.'"
Saint Peter saw them coming but his face was hard and stern,
He had formed his resolution from which he would not turn,
Not even Roberts' palaver would ever change him so
He'd send the Tuscarorans anywhere, but down below.
But now upon his countenance there came a look of pain,
He stepped from foot to foot, and then from foot to foot again:
He hailed a new-come resident, who near the portal stood,
A goodly Christian gentleman, whose name was Hubert Wood.
He said to him, "Come here, my friend, and tend awhile this gate,
Just take my place for half an hour, I've got to urinate."
With that Saint Peter hustled off. The gate-keeper pro tem
Observed the Tuscarorans and he waved his hand at them.
"Come in! come in!" he shouted, for he was an angler, too,
And he knew that anglers, as a whole, were earth's most harmless crew.
So all the Tuscarorans got to heaven, thanks to Wood,
And the Secretary's last report says, "Fishing there is good."
The Hearse-Horse.
by Bliss Carman (William)

Said the hearse-horse to the coffin,
"What the devil have you there?
I may trot from court to square,
Yet it neither swears nor groans,
When I jolt it over stones."
Said the coffin to the hearse-horse,
"Bones!"
Said the hearse-horse to the coffin,
"What the devil have you there,
With that purple frozen stare?
Where the devil has it been
To get that shadow grin?"
Said the coffin to the hearse-horse,
"Skin!"
Said the hearse-horse to the coffin,
"What the devil have you there?
It has fingers, it has hair;
Yet it neither kicks nor squirms
At the undertaker's terms."
Said the coffin to the hearse-horse,
"Worms!"
The Silver Penny
by Walter De La Mare

'Sailorman, I'll give to you
My bright silver penny,
If out to sea you'll sail me
And my dear sister Jenny.'
'Get in, young sir, I'll sail ye
And your dear sister Jenny,
But pay she shall her golden locks
Instead of your penny.'
They sail away, they sail away,
O fierce the winds blew!
The foam flew in clouds,
And dark the night grew!
And all the wild sea-water
Climbed steep into the boat;
Back to the shore again
Sail they will not.
Drowned is the sailorman,
Drowned is sweet Jenny,
And drowned in the deep sea
A bright silver penny.
Even the Winds and the Sea obey
by Arthur Hugh Clough

Said the Poet, I wouldn't maintain,
As the mystical German has done,
That the land, inexistent till then,
To reward him then first saw the sun;
And yet I could deem it was so,
As o'er the new waters he sailed,
That his soul made the breezes to blow,
With his courage the breezes had failed;
His strong quiet purpose had still
The hurricane's fury withheld;
The resolve of his conquering will
The lingering vessel impelled:
For the beings, the powers that range
In the air, on the earth, at our sides,
Can modify, temper and change
Stronger things than the winds and the tides,
By forces occult can the laws 
As we style them of nature o'errule;
Can cause, so to say, every cause,
And our best mathematics befool;
Can defeat calculation and plan,
Baffle schemes ne'er so wisely designed,
But will bow to the genius of man,
And acknowledge a sovereign mind.
In the Valley
by Henry Kendall

Said the yellow-haired Spirit of Spring
To the white-footed Spirit of Snow,
'On the wings of the tempest take wing,
And leave me the valleys, and go.'
And, straightway, the streams were unchained,
And the frost-fettered torrents broke free,
And the strength of the winter-wind waned
In the dawn of a light on the sea.
Then a morning-breeze followed and fell,
And the woods were alive and astir
With the pulse of a song in the dell,
And a whisper of day in the fir.
Swift rings of sweet water were rolled
Down the ways where the lily-leaves grew,
And the green, and the white, and the gold,
Were wedded with purple and blue.
But the lips of the flower of the rose
Said, 'where is the ending hereof?
Is it sweet with you, life, at the close?
Is it sad to be emptied of love?'
And the voice of the flower of the peach
Was tender and touching in tone,
'When each has been grafted on each,
It is sorrow to live on alone.'
Then the leaves of the flower of the vine
Said, 'what will there be in the day
When the reapers are red with my wine,
And the forests are yellow and grey?'
And the tremulous flower of the quince
Made answer, 'three seasons ago
My sisters were star-like, but since,
Their graves have been made in the snow.'
Then the whispering flower of the fern
Said, 'who will be sad at the death,
When Summer blows over the burn,
With the fierceness of fire in her breath?'
And the mouth of the flower of the sedge
Was opened to murmur and sigh,
'Sweet wind-breaths that pause at the edge
Of the nightfall, and falter, and die.'
The Rivals
by Helen Leah Reed

Said the Bicycle to the Automobile:
"How high and mighty and gay you feel;
Yet I can remember the day when I
Would let no other one pass me by
Cart horse and roadster and racehorse too,
Far ahead of them all I flew.
Now my tires are unpumped and my warning bell
The attention of nobody can compel.
"Though you maim your thousands where I hurt one,
Though ten times my farthest is your day's run,
Still I have been learning while lying here,
That a rival's coming for you to fear.
I have heard them talk of a wonderful thing,
That can fly in the air like a bird on the wing,
That can carry a man over land, over sea;
In a twinkling he is where he wishes to be.
"So swiftly it speeds, in a week and a day
One may girdle the globe, I have heard them say,
While you are contented from dawn to dark
With a few score miles to have made your mark."
The giant, throughout his quivering frame,
Felt the truth that was mixed with his rival's blame.
"I'll never be such a clod as you,"
He sputtered as off on the road he flew;
And his end the Bicycle never knew.
Dog-Day Reflections. By A Dandy Kept In Town.
by Thomas Moore

"vox clamantis in deserto."
Said Malthus one day to a clown
Lying stretched on the beach in the sun,--
"What's the number of souls in this town?"--
"The number! Lord bless you, there's none.
"We have nothing but dabs in this place,
"Of them a great plenty there are;--
But the soles, please your reverence and grace,
"Are all t'other side of the bar."
And so 'tis in London just now,
Not a soul to be seen up or down;--
Of dabs? a great glut, I allow,
But your soles, every one, out of town.
East or west nothing wondrous or new,
No courtship or scandal worth knowing;
Mrs. B---, and a Mermaid[1] or two,
Are the only loose fish that are going.
Ah, where is that dear house of Peers
That some weeks ago kept us merry?
Where, Eldon, art thou with thy tears?
And thou with thy sense, Londonderry?
Wise Marquis, how much the Lord Mayor,
In the dog-days, with thee must be puzzled!--
It being his task to take care
That such animals shan't go unmuzzled.
Thou too whose political toils
Are so worthy a captain of horse--
Whose amendments[2] (like honest Sir Boyle's)
Are "amendments, that make matters worse;"[3]
Great Chieftain, who takest such pains
To prove--what is granted, nem. con.--
With how moderate a portion of brains
Some heroes contrive to get on.
And thou too my Redesdale, ah! where
Is the peer with a star at his button,
Whose quarters could ever compare
With Redesdale's five quarters of mutton?[4]
Why, why have ye taken your flight,
Ye diverting and dignified crew?
How ill do three farces a night,
At the Haymarket, pay us for you!
For what is Bombastes to thee,
My Ellenbro', when thou look'st big
Or where's the burletta can be
Like Lauderdale's wit and his wig?
I doubt if even Griffinhoof[5] could
(Tho' Griffin's a comical lad)
Invent any joke half so good
As that precious one, "This is too bad!"
Then come again, come again Spring!
Oh haste thee, with Fun in thy train;
And--of all things the funniest--bring
These exalted Grimaldis again!
The Table And The Chair.
by Edward Lear

I.
Said the Table to the Chair,
"You can hardly be aware
How I suffer from the heat
And from chilblains on my feet.
If we took a little walk,
We might have a little talk;
Pray let us take the air,"
Said the Table to the Chair.
II.
Said the Chair unto the Table,
"Now, you _know_ we are not able:
How foolishly you talk,
When you know we _cannot_ walk!"
Said the Table with a sigh,
"It can do no harm to try.
I've as many legs as you:
Why can't we walk on two?"
III.
So they both went slowly down,
And walked about the town
With a cheerful bumpy sound
As they toddled round and round;
And everybody cried,
As they hastened to their side,
"See! the Table and the Chair
Have come out to take the air!"
IV.
But in going down an alley,
To a castle in a valley,
They completely lost their way,
And wandered all the day;
Till, to see them safely back,
They paid a Ducky-quack,
And a Beetle, and a Mouse,
Who took them to their house.
V.
Then they whispered to each other,
"O delightful little brother,
What a lovely walk we've taken!
Let us dine on beans and bacon."
So the Ducky and the leetle
Browny-Mousy and the Beetle
Dined, and danced upon their heads
Till they toddled to their beds.
The Duck And The Kangaroo.
by Edward Lear

I.
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo,
"Good gracious! how you hop
Over the fields, and the water too,
As if you never would stop!
My life is a bore in this nasty pond;
And I long to go out in the world beyond:
I wish I could hop like you,"
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.
II.
"Please give me a ride on your back,"
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo:
"I would sit quite still, and say nothing but 'Quack'
The whole of the long day through;
And we 'd go the Dee, and the Jelly Bo Lee,
Over the land, and over the sea:
Please take me a ride! oh, do!"
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.
III.
Said the Kangaroo to the Duck,
"This requires some little reflection.
Perhaps, on the whole, it might bring me luck;
And there seems but one objection;
Which is, if you'll let me speak so bold,
Your feet are unpleasantly wet and cold,
And would probably give me the roo-
Matiz," said the Kangaroo.
IV.
Said the Duck, "As I sate on the rocks,
I have thought over that completely;
And I bought four pairs of worsted socks,
Which fit my web-feet neatly;
And, to keep out the cold, I've bought a cloak;
And every day a cigar I'll smoke;
All to follow my own dear true
Love of a Kangaroo."
V.
Said the Kangaroo, "I'm ready,
All in the moonlight pale;
But to balance me well, dear Duck, sit steady,
And quite at the end of my tail."
So away they went with a hop and a bound;
And they hopped the whole world three times round.
And who so happy, oh! who,
As the Duck and the Kangaroo?
The Island Of Endless Play
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Said Willie to Tom, 'Let us hie away
To the wonderful Island of Endless Play.
It lies off the border of "No School Land,"
And abounds with pleasure, I understand.
There boys go swimming whenever they please
In a lovely river right under the trees.
And marbles are free, so you need not buy;
And kites of all sizes are ready to fly.
We sail down the Isthmus of Idle Delight -
We sail and we sail for a day and a night.
And then, if favoured by billows and breeze,
We land in the Harbour of Do-as-You-Please.
And there lies the Island of Endless Play,
With no one to say to us, Must, or Nay.
Books are not known in that land so fair,
Teachers are stoned if they set foot there.
Hurrah for the Island, so glad and free,
That is the country for you and me.'
So away went Willie and Tom together
On a pleasure boat, in the lazy weather,
And they sailed in the teeth of a friendly breeze
Right into the harbour of 'Do-as-You-Please.'
Where boats and tackle and marbles and kites
Were waiting them there in this Land of Delights.
They dwelt on the Island of Endless Play
For five long years; then one sad day
A strange, dark ship sailed up to the strand,
And 'Ho! for the voyage to Stupid Land,'
The captain cried, with a terrible noise,
As he seized the frightened and struggling boys
And threw them into the dark ship's hold;
And off and away sailed the captain bold.
They vainly begged him to let them out,
He answered only with scoff and shout.
'Boys that don't study or work,' said he,
'Must sail one day down the Ignorant Sea
To Stupid Land by the No-Book Strait,
With Captain Time on the Pitiless Fate.'
He let out the sails and away went the three
Over the waters of Ignorant Sea,
Out and away to Stupid Land;
And they live there yet, I understand.
And there's where every one goes, they say,
Who seeks the Island of Endless Play.
A Hand-Me-Down.
by Edwin C. Ranck

Said Sue to her suitor:
"You'll get a new suit, or
I'll sue for a suitor to suit."
"Why Sue," said her suitor
Who tried hard to suit her,
"Your suitor is suited to suit."
The Men-Made Gods
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Said the Kaiser's god to the god of the Czar:
'Hark, hark, how my people pray.
Their faith, methinks, is greater by far
Than all the faiths of the others are;
They know I will help them slay.'
Said the god of the Czar:    'My people call
In a medley of tongues; they know
I will lend my strength to them one and all.
Wherever they fight their foes shall fall
Like grass where the mowers go.'
Then the god of the Gauls spoke out of a cloud
To the god of the King nearby:
'Our people pray, tho' they pray not loud;
They ask for courage to slaughter a crowd,
And to laugh, tho' themselves may die.'
And far out into the heart of Space
Where a lonely pathway crept,
Up over the stars, to a secret place,
Where no light shone but the light of His face,
Christ covered His eyes and wept.
The Wind And The Moon
by George MacDonald

Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out!
You stare
In the air
As if crying Beware,
Always looking what I am about:
I hate to be watched; I will blow you out!"
The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.
So, deep
On a heap
Of clouds, to sleep
Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon,
Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon!"
He turned in his bed: she was there again!
On high
In the sky
With her one ghost-eye
The Moon shone white and alive and plain:
Said the Wind, "I will blow you out again!"
The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew slim.
"With my sledge
And my wedge
I have knocked off her edge!
I will blow," said the Wind, "right fierce and grim,
And the creature will soon be slimmer than slim!"
He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread.
"One puff
More's enough
To blow her to snuff!
One good puff more where the last was bred,
And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go that thread!"
He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone.
In the air
Nowhere
Was a moonbeam bare;
Larger and nearer the shy stars shone:
Sure and certain the Moon was gone!
The Wind he took to his revels once more;
On down
And in town,
A merry-mad clown,
He leaped and holloed with whistle and roar--
When there was that glimmering thread once more!
He flew in a rage--he danced and blew;
But in vain
Was the pain
Of his bursting brain,
For still the Moon-scrap the broader grew
The more that he swelled his big cheeks and blew.
Slowly she grew--till she filled the night,
And shone
On her throne
In the sky alone
A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night.
Said the Wind, "What a marvel of power am I!
With my breath,
In good faith,
I blew her to death!--
First blew her away right out of the sky,
Then blew her in: what a strength am I!"
But the Moon she knew nought of the silly affair;
For, high
In the sky
With her one white eye,
Motionless miles above the air,
She never had heard the great Wind blare.
Swinging The Lead
by Banjo Paterson (Andrew Barton)

Said the soldier to the Surgeon, "I've got noises in me head
And a kind o' filled up feeling after every time I'm fed;
I can sleep all night on picket, but I can't sleep in my bed".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
Said the soldier to the Surgeon, "Do you think they'll send me back?
For I really ain't adapted to be carrying a pack
Though I've humped a case of whisky half a mile upon my back".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
"And my legs have swelled up cruel, I can hardly walk at all,
Bur when the Taubes come over you should see me start to crawl;
When we're sprinting for the dugout, I can easy beat 'em all".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
So they sent him to the trenches where he landed safe and sound,
And he drew his ammunition, just about two fifty round:
"Oh Sergeant, what's this heavy stuff I've got to hump around?"
And the Sergeant said,
"That's Lead!"
The Hare And The Tortoise.
by Jean de La Fontaine

Said the Tortoise one day to the Hare:
"I'll run you a race if you dare.
I'll bet you cannot
Arrive at that spot
As quickly as I can get there."
Quoth the Hare: "You are surely insane.
Pray, what has affected your brain?
You seem pretty sick.
Call a doctor in - quick,
And let him prescribe for your pain."
"Never mind," said the Tortoise. "Let's run!
Will you bet me?" "Why, certainly." "Done!"
While the slow Tortoise creeps
Mr. Hare makes four leaps,
And then loafs around in the sun.
It seemed such a one-sided race,
To win was almost a disgrace.
So he frolicked about
Then at last he set out - 
As the Tortoise was as nearing the place.
Too late! Though he sped like a dart,
The Tortoise was first. She was smart:
"You can surely run fast,"
She remarked. "Yet you're last.
It is better to get a good start."
Sail On, Sail On.
by Thomas Moore

Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark--
Wherever blows the welcome wind,
It cannot lead to scenes more dark,
More sad than those we leave behind.
Each wave that passes seems to say,
"Tho' death beneath our smile may be,
Less cold we are, less false than they,
Whose smiling wrecked thy hopes and thee."
Sail on, sail on,--thro' endless space--
Thro' calm--thro' tempest--stop no more:
The stormiest sea's a resting place
To him who leaves such hearts on shore.
Or--if some desert land we meet,
Where never yet false-hearted men
Profaned a world, that else were sweet,--
Then rest thee, bark, but not till then.
Saint Botolph
by Arthur Macy

Saint Botolph flourished in the olden time,
In the days when the saints were in their prime.
Oh, his feet were bare and bruised and cold,
But his heart was warm and as pure as gold.
And the kind old saint with his gown and his hood
Was loved by the sinners and loved by the good,
For he made the sinners as pure as the snow,
And the good men needed him to keep them so.
CHORUS
Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
He loved a friend and a flagon of wine,
When the friend was true and the bottle was fine.
He would raise his glass with a knowing wink,
And this was the toast he would always drink: - 
"Oh, here's to the good and the bad men too,
For without them saints would have nothing to do.
Oh, I love them both and I love them well,
But which I love better, I never can tell."
CHORUS
Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
As he journeyed along on the king's highway
He gave all the boys and the girls "Good-day,"
And never a child saw the hood and gown
But ran to the father of Botolph's Town.
He'd a word for the wicked, and he called them kin,
And he said, "I am certain that there must be sin
While a few get the loaves and many get the crumbs,
And some are born fingers and some born thumbs."
CHORUS
Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
But the saint grew old, and sorry the day
When his life went out with the tide in the bay;
But he left a name and he left a creed
Of the cheerful life and the kindly deed.
Then remember the man of the days of old
Whose heart was warm and as pure as gold,
And remember the tears and the prayers he gave
For any poor devil with a soul to save.
CHORUS
Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
God's Vengeance.
by John Milton Hay

Saith the Lord, "Vengeance is mine;
I will repay," saith the Lord;
Ours be the anger divine,
Lit by the flash of His word.
How shall His vengeance be done?
How, when His purpose is clear?
Must He come down from His throne?
Hath He no instruments here?
Sleep not in imbecile trust,
Waiting for God to begin,
While, growing strong in the dust,
Rests the bruised serpent of sin.
Right and Wrong, - both cannot live
Death-grappled.    Which shall we see?
Strike! only Justice can give
Safety to all that shall be.
Shame! to stand paltering thus,
Tricked by the balancing odds;
Strike! God is waiting for us!
Strike! for the vengeance is God's.
Sancta Maria
by Edgar Allan Poe

Sancta Maria! turn thine eyes,
Upon the sinner's sacrifice,
Of fervent prayer and humble love,
From thy holy throne above.
At morn, at noon, at twilight dim,
Maria! thou hast heard my hymn!
In joy and wo, in good and ill,
Mother of God, be with me still!
When the Hours flew brightly by,
And not a cloud obscured the sky,
My soul, lest it should truant be,
Thy grace did guide to thine and thee;
Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast
Darkly my Present and my Past,
Let my Future radiant shine
With sweet hopes of thee and thine!