DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
Psal. LXXXIII.
by John Milton

Be not thou silent now at length
O God hold not thy peace,
Sit not thou still O God of strength
We cry and do not cease.
For lo thy furious foes now *1swell
And *1storm outrageously,
And they that hate thee proud and fill
Exalt their heads full hie.
Against thy people they *2contrive
*3Their Plots and Counsels deep,
*4Them to ensnare they chiefly strive
*5Whom thou dost hide and keep.
Come let us cut them off say they,
Till they no Nation be
That Israels name for ever may
Be lost in memory.
For they consult *6with all their might,
And all as one in mind
Themselves against thee they unite
And in firm union bind.
The tents of Edom, and the brood
Of scornful Ishmael,
Moab, with them of Hagars blood
That in the Desart dwell,
Gebal and Ammon there conspire,
And hateful Amalec,
The Philistims, and they of Tyre
Whose bounds the sea doth check.
With them great Asshur also bands
And doth confirm the knot,
All these have lent their armed hands
To aid the Sons of Lot.
Do to them as to Midian bold
That wasted all the Coast.
To Sisera, and as is told
Thou didst to Jabins hoast,
When at the brook of Kishon old
They were repulst and slain,
At Endor quite cut off, and rowl'd
As dung upon the plain.
As Zeb and Oreb evil sped
So let their Princes speed
As Zeba, and Zalmunna bled
So let their Princes bleed.
For they amidst their pride have said
By right now shall we seize
Gods houses, and will now invade
*7Their stately Palaces.
My God, oh make them as a wheel
No quiet let them find,
Giddy and restless let them reel
Like stubble from the wind.
As when an aged wood takes fire
Which on a sudden straies,
The greedy flame runs hier and hier
Till all the mountains blaze,
So with thy whirlwind them pursue,
And with thy tempest chase;
*8And till they *8yield thee honour due,
Lord fill with shame their face.
Asham'd and troubl'd let them be,
Troubl'd and sham'd for ever,
Ever confounded, and so die
With shame, and scape it never.
Then shall they know that thou whose name
Jehova is alone,
Art the most high, and thou the same
O're all the earth art one.
Khristna and His Flute
by Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson)

(Translation by Moolchand)
Be still, my heart, and listen,
For sweet and yet acute
I hear the wistful music
Of Khristna and his flute.
Across the cool, blue evenings,
Throughout the burning days,
Persuasive and beguiling,
He plays and plays and plays.
Ah, none may hear such music
Resistant to its charms,
The household work grows weary,
And cold the husband's arms.
I must arise and follow,
To seek, in vain pursuit,
The blueness and the distance,
The sweetness of that flute!
In linked and liquid sequence,
The plaintive notes dissolve
Divinely tender secrets
That none but he can solve.
Oh, Khristna, I am coming,
I can no more delay.
"My heart has flown to join thee,"
How can my footsteps stay?
Beloved, such thoughts have peril;
The wish is in my mind
That I had fired the jungle,
And left no leaf behind, - 
Burnt all bamboos to ashes,
And made their music mute, - 
To save thee from the magic
Of Khristna and his flute.
Pearls.
by Madison Julius Cawein

Baroque, but beautiful, between the lunes,
The valves of nacre of a mussel-shell,
Behold, a pearl! shaped like the burnished bell
Of some strange blossom that long afternoons
Of summer coax to open: all the moon's
Chaste lustre in it; hues that only dwell
With purity ' It takes me, like a spell,
Back to a day when, whistling truant tunes,
A barefoot boy I waded 'mid the rocks,
Searching for shells deep in the creek's slow swirl,
Unconscious of the pearls that 'round me lay:
While, 'mid wild-roses, all her tomboy locks
Blond-blowing, stood, unnoticed then, a girl,
My sweetheart once, the pearl I flung away.
Nursery Rhyme. CCCLXXVIII. Paradoxes.
by Unknown

Barney Bodkin broke his nose,
Without feet we can't have toes;
Crazy folks are always mad,
Want of money makes us sad.
Nursery Rhyme. CCCXIX. Games.
by Unknown

[Children hunting bats.]
Bat, bat, (clap hands,)
Come under my hat,
And I'll give you a slice of bacon;
And when I bake,
I'll give you a cake,
If I am not mistaken.
The Changes: To Corinne
by Robert Herrick

Be not proud, but now incline
Your soft ear to discipline;
You have changes in your life,
Sometimes peace, and sometimes strife;
You have ebbs of face and flows,
As your health or comes or goes;
You have hopes, and doubts, and fears,
Numberless as are your hairs;
You have pulses that do beat
High, and passions less of heat;
You are young, but must be old:
And, to these, ye must be told,
Time, ere long, will come and plow
Loathed furrows in your brow:
And the dimness of your eye
Will no other thing imply,
But you must die
As well as I.
Be In Earnest
by Pamela S. Vining, (J. C. Yule)

Be in earnest, Christian toilers,
Life is not the summer, dream
Of the careless, child that gathers
Daisies in the noontide beam!
It hath conflict, it hath danger,
It hath sorrow, toil, and strife;
Yet the weak alone will falter
In the battle-field of life.
There are burdens you may lighten,
Toiling, struggling ones may cheer,
Tear-dimmed eyes that you may brighten,
Thorny paths that you may clear; - 
Erring ones, despised, neglected,
You may lead to duty back, - 
Beacon-lights to be erected,
All along life's crowded track.
There are wrongs that must be righted,
Sacred rights to be sustained,
Truths, though trampled long and slighted,
'Mid the strife to be maintained; - 
Heavy, brooding mists to scatter - 
Mists of ignorance and sin, - 
Walls of adamant to shatter,
Thus to let God's sunlight in.
Boundless is the field and fertile,
Let the ploughshare deep be driven;
So, at length, the plenteous harvest
Shall look smiling up to heaven!
Sow the seed at early morning,
Nor at evening stay thy hand;
Precious fruits, the earth adorning,
Shall at length around thee stand
Be in earnest, Christian toilers,
Life is not the summer-dream
Of the careless child that gathers
Daisies in the noontide beam!
Life hath conflict, toil, and danger, - 
It hath sorrow, pain, and strife, - 
Yet the weak alone will falter
In the battle-field of life!
To A Common Prostitute
by Walt Whitman

Be composed, be at ease with me, I am Walt Whitman, liberal and lusty as Nature;
Not till the sun excludes you, do I exclude you;
Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you, and the leaves to rustle for you, do my words refuse to glisten and rustle for you.
My girl, I appoint with you an appointment, and I charge you that you make preparation to be worthy to meet me,
And I charge you that you be patient and perfect till I come.
Till then, I salute you with a significant look, that you do not forget me.
A Song Of Cheer
by Madison Julius Cawein

Be of good cheer, and have no fear
Of Fortune or Tomorrow:
To Hope's low whisper lend an ear
And turn away from Sorrow.
Time out of mind the soul is blind
To things God sends as blessings:
And Fortune often proves unkind
Merely in foolish guessings.
Within the soul we bear the whole
Of Hell and also Heaven;
And 'twixt the two is set the goal
Of dreams our lives have driven.
What counts above all deeds is Love,
And Friendship, that, remember,
In heart-beats keeps Life's record of
Its April and December.
To every one come rain and sun,
And calm and stormy weather:
What helps is not what Life has done,
But Life and Love together.
Of sun and rain and joy and pain
The web of Life is woven;
And ever through it runs the skein
Of Hope, with strand uncloven.
Now high in air it glitters fair;
Now dims beyond divining;
But still the thread winds golden there,
Although no longer shining.
Be of good cheer and have no fear
Of any care or sorrow;
The clouds at last will disappear,
And the sun will shine tomorrow.
Be Angry Now No More
by Walter De La Mare

Be angry now no more!
If I have grieved thee - if
Thy kindness, mine before,
No hope may now restore:
Only forgive, forgive!
If still resentment burns
In thy cold breast, oh if
No more to pity turns,
No more, once tender, yearns
Thy love; oh yet forgive!...
Ask of the winter rain
June's withered rose again:
Ask grace of the salt sea:
She will not answer thee.
God would ten times have shriven
A heart so riven;
In her cold care thou'dst be
Still unforgiven.
Nursery Rhyme. DXLVI. Natural History.
by Unknown

[The Proverb of Barnaby Bright is given by Ray and Brand as referring to St. Barnabas.]
Barnaby Bright he was a sharp cur,
He always would bark if a mouse did but stir;
But now he's grown old, and can no longer bark,
He's condemn'd by the parson to be hanged by the clerk.
Be Not Dismayed
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Be not dismayed, be not dismayed when death
Sets its white seal upon some worshipped face.
Poor human nature for a little space
Must suffer anguish, when that last drawn breath
Leaves such long silence; but let not thy faith
Fail for a moment in God's boundless grace.
But know, oh know, He has prepared a place
Fairer for our dear dead than worlds beneath,
Yet not beneath; for those entrancing spheres
Surround our earth as seas a barren isle.
Ours is the region of eternal fears;
Theirs is the region where God's radiant smile
Shines outward from the centre, and gives hope
Even to those who in the shadows grope.
They are not far from us.    At first though long
And lone may seem the paths that intervene,
If ever on the staff of prayer we lean
The silence will grow eloquent with song
And our weak faith with certitude wax strong.
Intense, yet tranquil; fervent, yet serene,
He must be who would contact World Unseen
And comrade with their Amaranthine throng;
Not through the tossing waves of surging grief
Come spirit-ships to port.    When storms subside,
Then with their precious cargoes of relief
Into the harbour of the heart they glide.
For him who will believe and trust and wait
Death's austere silence grows articulate.
Stratford-on-Avon
by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Be glad in heaven above all souls insphered,
Most royal and most loyal born of men,
Shakespeare, of all on earth beloved or feared
Or worshipped, highest in sight of human ken.
The homestead hallowed by thy sovereign birth,
Whose name, being one with thine, stands higher than Rome,
Forgets not how of all on English earth
Their trust is holiest, there who have their home.
Stratford is thine and England's. None that hate
The commonweal whose empire sets men free
Find comfort there, where once by grace of fate
A soul was born as boundless as the sea.
If life, if love, if memory now be thine,
Rejoice that still thy Stratford bears thy sign.
Odes From Horace. - To Barine. Book The Second, Ode The Eighth.
by Anna Seward

BARINE, to thy always broken vows
Were slightest punishment ordain'd;
Hadst thou less charming been
By one grey hair upon thy polish'd brows;
If but a single tooth were stain'd,
A nail discolour'd seen,
Then might I nurse the hope that, faithful grown,
The FUTURE might, at length, the guilty PAST atone.
But ah! no sooner on that perjur'd head,
With pomp, the votive wreaths are bound,
In mockery of truth,
Than lovelier grace thy faithless beauties shed;
Thou com'st, with new-born conquest crown'd,
The care of all our Youth,
Their public care; - and murmur'd praises rise
Where'er the beams are shot of those resistless eyes.
Thy Mother's buried dust; - the midnight train,
Of silent stars, - the rolling spheres,
Each God, that list'ning bows,
With thee it prospers, false-One! to profane.
The Nymphs attend; - gay Venus hears,
And all deride thy vows;
And Cupid whets afresh his burning darts
On the stone, moist with blood, that dropt from wounded hearts.
For thee our rising Youth to Manhood grow,
Ordain'd thy powerful chains to wear;
Nor do thy former Slaves
From the gay roof of their false Mistress go,
Tho' sworn no more to linger there;
Triumphant BEAUTY braves
The wise resolve; - and, ere they reach the door,
Fixes the faltering step to thy magnetic floor.
Thee the sage Matron fears, intent to warn
Her Striplings; - thee the Miser dreads,
And, of thy power aware,
Brides from the Fane with anxious sighs return,
Lest the bright nets thy beauty spreads,
Their plighted Lords ensnare,
Ere fades the marriage torch; nay even now,
While undispers'd the breath, that form'd the nuptial vow!
Be Our Fortunes As They May
by James Whitcomb Riley

Be our fortunes as they may,
Touched with loss or sorrow,
Saddest eyes that weep to-day
May be glad to-morrow.
Yesterday the rain was here,
And the winds were blowing -
Sky and earth and atmosphere
Brimmed and overflowing.
But to-day the sun is out,
And the drear November
We were then so vexed about
Now we scarce remember.
Yesterday you lost a friend -
Bless your heart and love it! -
For you scarce could comprehend
All the aching of it; -
But I sing to you and say:
Let the lost friend sorrow -
Here's another come to-day,
Others may to-morrow.
Comforts In Crosses.
by Robert Herrick

Be not dismayed though crosses cast thee down;
Thy fall is but the rising to a crown.
Written in a Volume of the Comtesse de Noailles
by Alan Seeger

Be my companion under cool arcades
That frame some drowsy street and dazzling square
Beyond whose flowers and palm-tree promenades
White belfries burn in the blue tropic air.
Lie near me in dim forests where the croon
Of wood-doves sounds and moss-banked water flows,
Or musing late till the midsummer moon
Breaks through some ruined abbey's empty rose.
Sweetest of those to-day whose pious hands
Tend the sequestered altar of Romance,
Where fewer offerings burn, and fewer kneel,
Pour there your passionate beauty on my heart,
And, gladdening such solitudes, impart
How sweet the fellowship of those who feel!
The Woodsman
by Paul Cameron Brown

Barely annoying the woods,
his cabin like our woodpile
home now for chipmunks and birds,
isolated by the lily pads -
he eschewed all comfort.
The view barely cognizant,
the prospect of the Massasauga rattler
and an occasional broken tin
sharp at the edges
was like water's drift
audible, not yet seen.
Toying with the cove,
past island jetties
& blueberry groves
inside little giant's tomb;
this man became ingratiated with lake treasure,
his clearing a triumphant blast.
He affixed his mark -
blazoning human habitation
on a lonely spot.
Dreams
by Walter De La Mare

Be gentle, O hands of a child;
Be true: like a shadowy sea
In the starry darkness of night
Are your eyes to me.
But words are shallow, and soon
Dreams fade that the heart once knew;
And youth fades out in the mind,
In the dark eyes too.
What can a tired heart say,
Which the wise of the world have made dumb?
Save to the lonely dreams of a child,
'Return again, come!'
Be Not Sad Because All Men
by James Joyce

Be not sad because all men
Prefer a lying clamour before you:
Sweetheart, be at peace again,
Can they dishonour you?
They are sadder than all tears;
Their lives ascend as a continual sigh.
Proudly answer to their tears:
As they deny, deny.
To Barry Cornwall
by Walter Savage Landor

Barry! your spirit long ago
Has haunted me; at last I know
The heart it sprung from: one more sound
Ne'er rested on poetic ground.
But, Barry Cornwall! by what right
Wring you my breast and dim my sight,
And make me wish at every touch
My poor old hand could do as much?
No other in these later times
Has bound me in so potent rhymes.
I have observed the curious dress
And jewelry of brave Queen Bess,
But always found some o'ercharged thing,
Some flaw in even the brightest ring,
Admiring in her men of war,
A rich but too argute guitar.
Our foremost now are more prolix,
And scrape with three-fell fiddlesticks,
And, whether bound for griefs or smiles,
Are slow to turn as crocodiles.
Once, every court and country bevy
Chose the gallant of loins less heavy,
And would have laid upon the shelf
Him who could talk but of himself.
Reason is stout, but even Reason
May walk too long in Rhyme's hot season.
I have heard many folks aver
They have caught horrid colds with her.
Imagination's paper kite,
Unless the string is held in tight,
Whatever fits and starts it takes,
Soon bounces on the ground, and breaks.
You, placed afar from each extreme,
Nor dully drowse nor wildly dream,
But, ever flowing with good-humour,
Are bright as spring and warm as summer.
Mid your Penates not a word
Of scorn or ill-report is heard;
Nor is there any need to pull
A sheaf or truss from cart too full,
Lest it o'erload the horse, no doubt,
Or clog the road by falling out.
We, who surround a common table,
And imitate the fashionable,
Wear each two eyeglasses: _this_ lens
Shows us our faults, _that_ other men's.
We do not care how dim may be
_This_ by whose aid our own we see,
But, ever anxiously alert
That all may have their whole desert,
We would melt down the stars and sun
In our heart's furnace, to make one
Thro' which the enlighten'd world might spy
A mote upon a brother's eye.
Miserere
by Kate Seymour Maclean

Be pitiful, oh God! the night is long,
My soul is faint with watching for the light,
And still the gloom and doubt of seven-fold night
Hangs heavy on my spirit: Thou art strong.--
Pity me, oh my God!
I stretch my hands through darkness up to Thee,--
The stars are shrouded, and the night is dumb;
There is no earthly help,--to Thee I come
In all my helplessness and misery,--
Pity me, oh my God!
Be pitiful, oh God!--for I am weak,
And all my paths are rough, and hedged about,--
Hold Thou my hand dear Lord, and lead me out,
And bring me to the city which I seek,--
Pity me, oh my God!
By the temptation which Thou didst endure,
And by Thy fasting and Thy midnight prayer,
Jesu! let me not utterly despair;
Oh! hide me in the Rock from ill secure,--
Pity me, oh my God!
Mine eyes run down with tears that do not cease;
Oh! when beyond the river dark and cold,
Shall I the white walls of my home behold,--
The shining palaces--the streets of gold,--
And enter through the gates the City of Peace,--
Pity me, oh my God!
Under The Rod
by Pamela S. Vining, (J. C. Yule)

"Be Still, and know that I am God!"
Be silent, Soul! - though dark thy path and dreary,
And wild with storm, yet what is that to thee?
Though thou art faint, and desolate, and weary,
Thy God hath willed thus, - so let it be!
Murmurs the mountain oak when storms assail it,
And warring tempests wildly shake its form?
Firmer within the earth its root it striketh,
And gathers strength and vigor from the storm.
Be silent, Soul! - the hand of God is on thee!
And, as a skillful gard'ner, from the vine
Doth lop away each worthless branch and barren,
So He would lop each fruitless bough of thine.
Ah! thou art earth-bound, prone, and lowly creeping,
clinging to things too frail to be thy stay;
Jesus, with watchful care His vineyard keeping,
Would lift thee up to sunshine and the day.
Be silent, Soul! - thou'rt not thy own; - the Saviour
With blood and anguish bought thee on the tree!
Why murmur, then, that He should seek to make thee
Holy, and pure, and fit with Him to be?
This world is not thy home! - cease thy weak clinging
To its frail reeds, O thou whose mansion blest
Is where Life's river flows with ceaseless singing
Through the fair Paradise where angels rest.
Be silent, Soul - in the great heavenly Temple,
The Master-Builder hath a niche for thee;
And thou must pass beneath His forming chisel,
If thou a goodly, polished stone wouldst be.
Bless God for every stroke that severs from thee
The gross and earthy, bringing to the light
The intrinsic worth His Spirit hath wrought in thee, - 
The gem His hand would polish and make bright
Be silent, Soul! - thy God is ever near thee,
Whether thy path 'mid storm or sunshine lie, - 
Whether the morning's tender radiance cheer thee,
Or rayless darkness veil the midnight sky!
What matter though thy pathway lone and dreary
Should all with weary, trembling feet be trod?
Enough for thee to know, thy Lord is near thee,
And the rough road leads up to Heaven and God!
Bathed In War's Perfume
by Walt Whitman

Bathed in war's perfume--delicate flag!
(Should the days needing armies, needing fleets, come again,)
O to hear you call the sailors and the soldiers! flag like a beautiful woman!
O to hear the tramp, tramp, of a million answering men! O the ships they arm with joy!
O to see you leap and beckon from the tall masts of ships!
O to see you peering down on the sailors on the decks!
Flag like the eyes of women.
The World's All Right
by Robert William Service

Be honest, kindly, simple, true;
Seek good in all, scorn but pretence;
Whatever sorrow come to you,
Believe in Life's Beneficence!
The World's all right; serene I sit,
And cease to puzzle over it.
There's much that's mighty strange, no doubt;
But Nature knows what she's about;
And in a million years or so
We'll know more than to-day we know.
Old Evolution's under way -
What ho! the World's all right, I say.
Could things be other than they are?
All's in its place, from mote to star.
The thistledown that flits and flies
Could drift no hair-breadth otherwise.
What is, must be; with rhythmic laws
All Nature chimes, Effect and Cause.
The sand-grain and the sun obey -
What ho! the World's all right, I say.
Just try to get the Cosmic touch,
The sense that "you" don't matter much.
A million stars are in the sky;
A million planets plunge and die;
A million million men are sped;
A million million wait ahead.
Each plays his part and has his day -
What ho! the World's all right, I say.
Just try to get the Chemic view:
A million million lives made "you".
In lives a million you will be
Immortal down Eternity;
Immortal on this earth to range,
With never death, but ever change.
You always were, and will be aye -
What ho! the World's all right, I say.
Be glad! And do not blindly grope
For Truth that lies beyond our scope:
A sober plot informeth all
Of Life's uproarious carnival.
Your day is such a little one,
A gnat that lives from sun to sun;
Yet gnat and you have parts to play -
What ho! the World's all right, I say.
And though it's written from the start,
Just act your best your little part.
Just be as happy as you can,
And serve your kind, and die - a man.
Just live the good that in you lies,
And seek no guerdon of the skies;
Just make your Heaven here, to-day -
What ho! the World's all right, I say.
Remember! in Creation's swing
The Race and not the man's the thing.
There's battle, murder, sudden death,
And pestilence, with poisoned breath.
Yet quick forgotten are such woes;
On, on the stream of Being flows.
Truth, Beauty, Love uphold their sway -
What ho! the World's all right, I say.
The World's all right; serene I sit,
And joy that I am part of it;
And put my trust in Nature's plan,
And try to aid her all I can;
Content to pass, if in my place
I've served the uplift of the Race.
Truth! Beauty! Love! O Radiant Day -
What ho! the World's all right, I say.
The Toronto Star, Saturday, November 30, 1985
by Paul Cameron Brown

Bare bones future
Medical schools may be facing a bare bones future,
thanks to a shortage of skeletons. According to an article
in The Medical Post, most anatomy skeletons come from
India and the Indian government has placed a ban on the
export of human skulls and skeletons. At Queen's University,
500 students share 300 skeletons, four or five of
which have to be replaced every year although the head of
the anatomy department says the students take good care of them.
Anatomists say it would be extremely hard to duplicate the surface
details with plastic skeletons but the option may have to be considered.
Be Of Good Cheer, Brave Spirit; Steadfastly
by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Be of good cheer, brave spirit; steadfastly
Serve that low whisper thou hast served; for know,
God hath a select family of sons
Now scattered wide thro' earth, and each alone,
Who are thy spiritual kindred, and each one
By constant service to, that inward law,
Is weaving the sublime proportions
Of a true monarch's soul. Beauty and strength,
The riches of a spotless memory,
The eloquence of truth, the wisdom got
By searching of a clear and loving eye
That seeth as God seeth. These are their gifts,
And Time, who keeps God's word, brings on the day
To seal the marriage of these minds with thine,
Thine everlasting lovers. Ye shall be
The salt of all the elements, world of the world.