DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
The River
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I am a river flowing from God's sea
Through devious ways.    He mapped my course for me;
I cannot change it; mine alone the toil
To keep the waters free from grime and soil.
The winding river ends where it began;
And when my life has compassed its brief span
I must return to that mysterious source.
So let me gather daily on my course
The perfume from the blossoms as I pass,
Balm from the pines, and healing from the grass,
And carry down my current as I go
Not common stones but precious gems to show;
And tears (the holy water from sad eyes)
Back to God's sea, from which all rivers rise,
Let me convey, not blood from wounded hearts,
Nor poison which the upas tree imparts.
When over flowery vales I leap with joy,
Let me not devastate them, nor destroy,
But rather leave them fairer to the sight;
Mine be the lot to comfort and delight.
And if down awful chasms I needs must leap,
Let me not murmur at my lot, but sweep
On bravely to the end without one fear,
Knowing that He who planned my ways stands near.
Love sent me forth, to Love I go again,
For Love is all, and over all.    Amen.
Alone In The House
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I am all alone in the house to-night;
They would not have gone away
Had they known of the terrible, bloodless fight
I have held with my heart to-day.
With the old sweet love and the old fierce pain
I have battled hour by hour;
But the fates have willed that the strife is vain.
Alone in the hour my thoughts have reign,
And I yield myself to their power.
Yield myself to the old time charm
Of a dream of vanished bliss,
The thrill of a voice, and the fold of an arm,
And a red lip's lingering kiss.
It all comes back like a flowing tide;
That brief, but beautiful day.
Though it oft is checked by the dam of pride,
Till the waters flow back to the other side,
To-night it has broken away.
I gave you all that I had to give,
O love, the lavish whole.
And you threw it away, and now I live
A starved and beggared soul.
And I feed on crumbs that memory throws
From her table over-filled,
And I lay awake when others repose,
And slake my thirst when no one knows,
With the wine that she has spilled.
I go my way and I do my part
In the world's great scene of strife,
But I do it all with an empty heart,
Dead to the best of life.
And ofttimes weary and tempest tossed,
When I am not ruled by pride,
I wish ere the die was throne and lost,
Ere I played for love without counting the cost,
That I, like my heart, had died.
I Am Doing No Good!
by Pamela S. Vining, (J. C. Yule)

"I am doing no good!" said a little rill,
As it rippled along at the foot of a hill,
"I am doing no good with my babbling here,
No one is listening, - no one is near!"
"'No good! - no good!'" said a violet blue,
As it shook from its petals the sparkling dew,
And opened its wondering, azure eyes
To the soft, clear light of the morning skies.
"'No good?'" - said a willow tree, bending low
To kiss the rivulet, "say not so!
Daily and hourly I draw from thee
The grace and beauty that dwell with me!"
And the rustling reeds in the marge that stood
Reproachfully murmured - "'no good! - no good!'"
"'No good,' indeed!" - cried a dainty bird,
And she sprang from her nest as the sound she heard,
And fluttered her wings o'er the sorrowing stream,
While her bright plumes flashed in the morning beam.
"Peace, peace, my brook!" - and the young leaves stirred
At the gushing notes of the happy bird - 
"Do you not nourish the dear beech tree
That spreads its shelter for mine and me?
You give yon wild rose its beauteous hue, - 
And yonder violet its tender blue, - 
And yonder willow its foliage fair, - 
And yonder lily its fragrance rare!
The sun is gracious and kind, we think,
But to you, my brooklet, we come to drink!
His beams with glory and warmth are rife,
But you afford us the cup of life!
Gentle rivulet, cease to pine! - 
Sing, and be happy for me and mine!"
"And me!" said the lily, "and me!" - "and me!"
Said violet, and rose-bud, and willow tree;
And rustling reeds, and the gray, old beech
Tossing his arms high out of reach, - 
Fluttering insect, and waving tree,
Murmured and rustled "for me!" - "and me!"
Then the rivulet brightening, sped along,
With a freer step and a gladder song,
Through many a valley and meadow green
Making her flowery foot-prints seen, - 
Deepening ever and broadening out,
Greeting the hills with a joyous shout, - 
Greeting the rocks with a soft caress,
And singing still in her joy's excess,
Till her song swelled out to an anthem free,
As she caught the flash of the distant Sea - 
The glorious Sea that, with answering tone,
Welcomed his guest from the hill-side lone.
Then the Stream shook hands with the kingly main,
And, glancing back to her source again,
Beheld each place where her steps had been
Glowing in tenderest, loveliest green, - 
Saw beauty and fruitfulness fresh and fair
Wherever her gladdening footsteps were,
And caught from the green hills far away
The echo of many a woodland lay,
And the perfume of many a wild flower borne
On the scented wings of the dewy morn.
And then the rivulet understood
That all along she'd been doing good; - 
That a rich green belt on Earth's sunny breast
Was left to tell of her mission blest; - 
That Earth with lovelier flowers was rife
For her calm footsteps and patient life; - 
That giving much, she had gathered more,
Winning an ever-increasing store; - 
And, at length, unfettered, and strong, and free,
A home she had found with the glorious Sea!
Swimming Song
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I am coming, coming to thee,
My strong-armed lover, the Sea!
On thy great broad breast I will lie and rest,
And thou shalt talk to me.
I have come to thee, all unsought,
I have stolen an hour from thought,
And peace and power thou canst give in that hour,
Which thy rival Earth gives not.
Alone here, under the sky,
And the whole world drifting by!
Thy breast of brine thrills close to mine,
While the cloudless sun sails high.
I fly, but thou givest chase -
Thy kisses are on my face!
Be bold and free as thou wilt, O Sea,
There is life in thy close embrace.
Throat and cheek and tress
Are damp where thy salt lips press!
There is strength and bliss in thy daring kiss,
And joy in thy bold caress.
And what is the Earth to me!
I have left it all, O Sea!
With its dust and soil and strife and toil,
For one glad hour with thee.
Thoughts.
by Nora Pembroke (Margaret Moran Dixon McDougall)

I am glad when men of genius
Array a common thought,
In imperishable beauty
That it cannot be forgot.
The heart thoughts all bright and burnished
By high poetic art,
As sweet as the wood-bird's warble
Touching the very heart.
Have not I, poor workday mortal,
Some thoughts of living light,
In the spirit's inner chambers,
Moving with spirit might?
And they come in the fair spring time
Of heart and life and year,
When sweet Nature's wild rejoicings,
Draws votaries very near
To the heart of all that's lovely
On earth and in the sky;
Making audible the music
Of the inner melody.
Underlying all the sunshine,
Whispering through every breeze,
As it crests the ruffled ocean
Or sways the forest trees.
Bright thoughts that are heart prisoners
Vibrating on its chords,
For, alas! I have not genius
To bring them forth in words.
But full oft, like friendship's greeting
Upon life's weary way,
Do I meet in other's language
What I most wished to say.
To such words my bosom echoes,
I feel they are my own,
They bright echo of my day dreams,
That else were ever flown.
Ah to think, ye men of genius,
What joy your art affords,
Giving to the thoughts of millions
The dress of glowing words!
And a blessing on these words then
To bear them far and free;
That they glad the hearts of many
As they have gladdened me.
The Prayer Of A Lonely Heart.
by Frances Anne Kemble (Fanny)

I am alone - oh be thou near to me,
Great God! from whom the meanest are not far.
Not in presumption of the daring spirit,
Striving to find the secrets of itself,
Make I my weeping prayer; in the deep want
Of utter loneliness, my God! I seek thee;
If the worm may creep up to thy fellowship,
Or dust, instinct with yearning, rise towards thee.
I have no fellow, Father! of my kind;
None that be kindred, none companion to me,
And the vast love, and harmony, and brotherhood,
Of the dumb creatures thou hast made below me,
Vexes my soul with its own bitter lot.
Around me grow the trees, each by the other;
Innumerable leaves, each like the other,
Whisper and breathe, and live and move together.
Around me spring the flowers; each rosy cup
Hath sisters, leaning their fair cheeks against it.
The birds fly all above me; not alone,
But coupled in free fellowship, or mustering
A joyous band, weeping in companies
The wide blue fields between the clouds; - the clouds
Troop in society, each on the other
Shedding, like sympathy, reflected light.
The waves, a multitude, together run
To the great breast of the receiving sea:
Nothing but hath its kind, its company,
Oh God! save I alone! then, let me come,
Good Father! to thy feet, when even as now,
Tears, that no human hand is near to wipe,
O'erbrim my eyes, oh wipe them, thou, my Father!
When in my heart the stores of its affections,
Piled up unused, locked fast, are like to burst
The fleshly casket, that may not contain them,
Let me come nigh to thee; - accept thou them,
Dear Father! - Fount of Love!    Compassionate God!
When in my spirit burns the fire, the power,
That have made men utter the words of angels,
And none are near to bid me speak and live:
Hearken, oh Father! Maker of my spirit!
God of my soul, to thee I will outpour
The hymns resounding through my troubled mind,
The sighs and sorrows of my lonely heart,
The tears, and weeping, of my weary eyes:
Be thou my fellow, glorious, gracious God!
And fit me for such fellowship with thee!
Fear
by Sara Teasdale

I am afraid, oh I am so afraid!
The cold black fear is clutching me to-night
As long ago when they would take the light
And leave the little child who would have prayed,
Frozen and sleepless at the thought of death.
My heart that beats too fast will rest too soon;
I shall not know if it be night or noon,
Yet shall I struggle in the dark for breath?
Will no one fight the Terror for my sake,
The heavy darkness that no dawn will break?
How can they leave me in that dark alone,
Who loved the joy of light and warmth so much,
And thrilled so with the sense of sound and touch,
How can they shut me underneath a stone?
The Brown Girl
by Frank Sidgwick

The Text of this ballad was taken down before the end of the nineteenth century by the Rev. S. Baring Gould, from a blacksmith at Thrushleton, Devon.
The Story is a simple little tale which recalls Barbara Allen, Clerk Sanders, Lord Thomas and Fair Annet, and others. I have placed it here for contrast, and in illustration of the disdain of 'brown' maids.
THE BROWN GIRL
1.
'I am as brown as brown can be,
And my eyes as black as sloe;
I am as brisk as brisk can be,
And wild as forest doe.
2.
'My love he was so high and proud,
His fortune too so high,
He for another fair pretty maid
Me left and passed me by.
3.
'Me did he send a love-letter,
He sent it from the town,
Saying no more he loved me,
For that I was so brown.
4.
'I sent his letter back again,
Saying his love I valued not,
Whether that he would fancy me,
Whether that he would not.
5.
'When that six months were overpass'd,
Were overpass'd and gone,
Then did my lover, once so bold,
Lie on his bed and groan.
6.
'When that six months were overpass'd,
Were gone and overpass'd,
O then my lover, once so bold,
With love was sick at last.
7.
'First sent he for the doctor-man:
"You, doctor, me must cure;
The pains that now do torture me
I can not long endure."
8.
'Next did he send from out the town,
O next did send for me;
He sent for me, the brown, brown girl
Who once his wife should be.
9.
'O ne'er a bit the doctor-man
His sufferings could relieve;
O never an one but the brown, brown girl
Who could his life reprieve.'
10.
Now you shall hear what love she had
For this poor love-sick man,
How all one day, a summer's day,
She walked and never ran.
11.
When that she came to his bedside,
Where he lay sick and weak,
O then for laughing she could not stand
Upright upon her feet.
12.
'You flouted me, you scouted me,
And many another one,
Now the reward is come at last,
For all that you have done.'
13.
The rings she took from off her hands,
The rings by two and three:
'O take, O take these golden rings,
By them remember me.'
14.
She had a white wand in her hand,
She strake him on the breast:
'My faith and troth I give back to thee,
So may thy soul have rest.'
15.
'Prithee,' said he, 'forget, forget,
Prithee forget, forgive;
O grant me yet a little space,
That I may be well and live.'
16.
'O never will I forget, forgive,
So long as I have breath;
I'll dance above your green, green grave
Where you do lie beneath.'
A Song
by Theodosia Garrison

I am as weary as a child
That weeps upon its mother's breast
For joy of comforting. But I
Have no such place to rest.
I am as weary as a bird
Blown by wild winds far out to sea
When it regains its nest. But, Oh,
There waits no nest for me.
What think you may sustain the bird
That finds no housing after flight?
And what the little child console
Who weeps alone at night?
Nursery Rhyme. CCCCLXI. Love And Matrimony.
by Unknown

I am a pretty wench,
And I come a great way hence,
And sweethearts I can get none:
But every dirty sow,
Can get sweethearts enow,
And I, pretty wench, can get never a one.
The Sea Wind
by Sara Teasdale

I am a pool in a peaceful place,
I greet the great sky face to face,
I know the stars and the stately moon
And the wind that runs with rippling shoon
But why does it always bring to me
The far-off, beautiful sound of the sea?
The marsh-grass weaves me a wall of green,
But the wind comes whispering in between,
In the dead of night when the sky is deep
The wind comes waking me out of sleep
Why does it always bring to me
The far-off, terrible call of the sea?
I Am He That Aches With Love
by Walt Whitman

I am he that aches with amorous love;
Does the earth gravitate? Does not all matter, aching, attract all matter?
So the Body of me, to all I meet, or know.
The 'How' And The 'Why'
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

?
I am any man's suitor,
If any will be my tutor:
Some say this life is pleasant,
Some think it speedeth fast,
In time there is no present,
In eternity no future,
In eternity no past.
We laugh, we cry, we are born, we die,
Who will riddle me the how and the why?
The bulrush nods unto its brother,
The wheatears whisper to each other:
What is it they say? what do they there?
Why two and two make four? why round is not square?
Why the rock stands still, and the light clouds fly?
Why the heavy oak groans, and the white willows sigh?
Why deep is not high, and high is not deep?
Whether we wake, or whether we sleep?
Whether we sleep, or whether we die?
How you are you? why I am I?
Who will riddle me the how and the why?
The world is somewhat; it goes on somehow:
But what is the meaning of then and now?
I feel there is something; but how and what?
I know there is somewhat: but what and why?
I cannot tell if that somewhat be I.
The little bird pipeth''why? why?'
In the summer woods when the sun falls low,
And the great bird sits on the opposite bough,
And stares in his face, and shouts 'how? how?'
And the black owl sends down the mellow twilight,
And chants 'how? how?' the whole of the night.
Why the life goes when the blood is spilt?
What the life is? where the soul may lie?
Why a church is with a steeple built:
And a house with a chimney-pot?
Who will riddle me the how and the what?
Who will riddle me the what and the why?
No Coward's Song
by James Elroy Flecker

I am afraid to think about my death,
When it shall be, and whether in great pain
I shall rise up and fight the air for breath
Or calmly wait the bursting of my brain.
I am no coward who could seek in fear
A folklore solace or sweet Indian tales:
I know dead men are deaf and cannot hear
The singing of a thousand nightingales.
I know dead men are blind and cannot see
The friend that shuts in horror their big eyes,
And they are witless--O I'd rather be
A living mouse than dead as a man dies.
The Image
by John Frederick Freeman

I am a river flowing round your hill,
Holding your image in my lingering water,
With imaged white clouds rising round your head;
And I am happy to bear your image still.
Though a loud ruffling wind may break and scatter
That happiness, I know it is not fled.
But when the wind is gone or gentled so
That only the least quivering quivers on,
Your image recomposes in my breast
With those high clouds, quiet and white as snow--
Spiritual company; and when day's gone
And those white clouds have stepped into the west;
And the dark blue filling the heavens deep
Is bright with stars that sing above your head,
Their light lies in the deep of my dark eyes
With your dark shape, a shadow of your sleep ...
I am happy still, watching the bright stars tread
Around your shadow that in my bosom lies.
The River
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I am a river flowing from God's sea
Through devious ways. He mapped my course for me;
I cannot change it; mine alone the toil
To keep the waters free from grime and soil.
The winding river ends where it began;
And when my life has compassed its brief span
I must return to that mysterious source.
So let me gather daily on my course
The perfume from the blossoms as I pass,
Balm from the pines, and healing from the grass,
And carry down my current as I go
Not common stones but precious gems to show;
And tears (the holy water from sad eyes)
Back to God's sea, from which all rivers rise
Let me convey, not blood from wounded hearts,
Nor poison which the upas tree imparts.
When over flowery vales I leap with joy,
Let me not devastate them, nor destroy,
But rather leave them fairer to the sight;
Mine be the lot to comfort and delight.
And if down awful chasms I needs must leap
Let me not murmur at my lot, but sweep
On bravely to the end without one fear,
Knowing that He who planned my ways stands near.
Love sent me forth, to Love I go again,
For Love is all, and over all. Amen.
Fragment: Wine Of The Fairies.
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I am drunk with the honey wine
Of the moon-unfolded eglantine,
Which fairies catch in hyacinth bowls.
The bats, the dormice, and the moles
Sleep in the walls or under the sward
Of the desolate castle yard;
And when 'tis spilt on the summer earth
Or its fumes arise among the dew,
Their jocund dreams are full of mirth,
They gibber their joy in sleep; for few
Of the fairies bear those bowls so new!
Alone
by Sara Teasdale

I am alone, in spite of love,
In spite of all I take and give,
In spite of all your tenderness,
Sometimes I am not glad to live.
I am alone, as though I stood
On the highest peak of the tired gray world,
About me only swirling snow,
Above me, endless space unfurled;
With earth hidden and heaven hidden,
And only my own spirit's pride
To keep me from the peace of those
Who are not lonely, having died.
Banishment
by Siegfried Loraine Sassoon

I am banished from the patient men who fight.
They smote my heart to pity, built my pride.
Shoulder to aching shoulder, side by side,
They trudged away from life's broad wealds of light.
Their wrongs were mine; and ever in my sight
They went arrayed in honour. But they died, - 
Not one by one: and mutinous I cried
To those who sent them out into the night.
The darkness tells how vainly I have striven
To free them from the pit where they must dwell
In outcast gloom convulsed and jagged and riven
By grappling guns. Love drove me to rebel.
Love drives me back to grope with them through hell;
And in their tortured eyes I stand forgiven.
Spring.
by H. P. Nichols

I am coming, I am coming,
With my carpet soft and green;
I have spread it o'er the common,
And a prettier ne'er was seen.
Soon I'll spangle it with clover,
And the dandelions bright;
You shall pick them in your aprons,
Yellow, red, and snowy white.
I am coming, and the tree-tops,
That all winter were so bare,
You shall see, with small leaves covered,
Wave their branches in the air.
I am coming! Little children,
Can you tell me who am I?
If not, you will soon remember,
For I'm just now passing by.
Ghazal Of Sayyid Kamal
by Edward Powys Mathers (As Translator)

I am burning, I am crumbled into powder,
I stand to the lips in a tossing sea of tears.
Like a stone falling in Hamun lake I vanish;
I return no more, I am counted among the dead.
I am consumed like yellow straw on red flames;
You have drawn a poisoned sword along my throat to-day.
People have come to see me from far towns,
Great and small, arriving with bare heads,
For I have become one of the great historical lovers.
In the desire of your red lips
My heart has become a red kiln, like a terrace of roses.
It is because she does not trouble about the bee on the rose
That my heart is taken.
"I have blackened my eyes to kill you, Sayyid Kamal.
I kill you with my eyelids; I am Natarsa, the Panjabie, the pitiless."
From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).
The Sea Gypsy.
by Bliss Carman (William)

I am fevered with the sunset,
I am fretful with the bay,
For the wander-thirst is on me
And my soul is in Cathay.
There's a schooner in the offing,
With her topsails shot with fire,
And my heart has gone aboard her
For the Islands of Desire.
I must forth again to-morrow!
With the sunset I must be
Hull down on the trail of rapture
In the wonder of the sea.
Voices.
by Charles Hamilton Musgrove

Earthquake.
I am a memory of cosmogony,
That first great hour of travail when the voice
Of God called suns and systems from the void;
I am the dream He dreams of that last day
When mountains by the roots shall be plucked up
And headlong flung into the raging sea!
Hurricane.
I am the breath that fills the organ pipes
When through the vast cathedral of the world
Death's stormy threnody sweeps, wave on wave,
The symboled note that one day will be blown
By a great angel standing in the sun,
At which the heaven and earth shall pass away!
Fire.
I am the letters of that fateful word
Writ with a flaming sword above the gates
Of Eden when God spelled the doom of man;
I am the wrath that on the judgment day
Shall waste the seas, and wither up the stars,
And roll the heavens together like a scroll!
God.
I am the earthquake, hurricane and fire!
Through them I speak with man as through the stars,
The dews, the flowers, and every gentler thing;
Some learn my lesson in the paths of peace;
Some con it low at desolation's knee;
Only the fool hath said: "There is no God!"
Translations. - Contentment. (From Claudius.)
by George MacDonald

I am content. In triumph's tone
My song, let people know!
And many a mighty man, with throne
And sceptre, is not so.
And if he is, why then, I cry,
The man is just the same as I.
The Mogul's gold, the Sultan's show,
The hero's bliss, who, vext
To find no other world below,
Up to the moon looked next--
I'd none of them; for things like that
Are only fit for laughing at.
My motto is--Content with this.
Gold--rank--I prize not such.
That which I have, my measure is;
Wise men desire not much.
Men wish and wish, and have their will,
And wish again, as hungry still.
And gold or honour, though it rings,
Is but a brittle glass;
Experience of changing things
Might teach a very ass!
Right often Many turns to None,
And honour has but a short run.
To do right, to be good and clear,
Is more than rank and gold;
Then art thou always of good cheer,
And blisses hast untold;
Then art thou with thyself at one,
And hatest no man, fearest none.
I am content. In triumph's tone,
My song, let people know!
And many a mighty man, with throne
And sceptre, is not so.
And if he is, why then, I cry,
The man is just the same as I.
Love-Free
by Sara Teasdale

I am free of love as a bird flying south in the autumn,
Swift and intent, asking no joy from another,
Glad to forget all of the passion of April
Ere it was love-free.
I am free of love, and I listen to music lightly,
But if he returned, if he should look at me deeply,
I should awake, I should awake and remember
I am my lover's.