DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
Nursery Rhyme. LXXV. Tales.
by Unknown

[The tale of Jack Horner has long been appropriated to the nursery. The four lines which follow are the traditional ones, and they form part of 'The pleasant History of Jack Horner, containing his witty Tricks and pleasant Pranks, which he plaied from his Youth to his riper Years,' 12mo, a copy of which is in the Bodleian Library, and this extended story is in substance the same with 'The Fryer and the Boy,' 12mo, Lond. 1617, and both of them are taken from the more ancient story of 'Jack and his Step-dame,' which has been printed by Mr. Wright.]
Little Jack Horner sat in the corner,
Eating a Christmas pie;
He put in his thumb, and he took out a plum,
And said, "What a good boy am I!"
Nursery Rhyme. XXVIII. Historical
by Unknown

Little General Monk
Sat upon a trunk,
Eating a crust of bread;
There fell a hot coal
And burnt in his clothes a hole,
Now General Monk is dead.
Keep always from the fire:
If it catch your attire,
You too, like Monk, will be dead.
Nursery Rhyme. LVII. Tales.
by Unknown

Little King Boggen he built a fine hall.
Pye-crust, and pastry-crust, that was the wall;
The windows were made of black-puddings and white,
And slated with pancakes - you ne'er saw the like.
Little Boy Sleepy
by Madison Julius Cawein

Little boy sleepy won't go to bed,
Though the Sand Man came an hour ago,
And sand all under his eyelids spread:
Though his eyes are heavy and heavy his head,
And his little tired feet seem made of lead,
And he nods and yawns as he drags them slow.
Little Boy Sleepy won't go to bed.
Little Boy Sleepy just has to play,
Though his toys are tired as he, I know:
His little toy-horse in its little toy-dray
Just seems to beg to be put away;
It has worked so hard all day, all day,
Hauling the toy-blocks to and fro.
Little Boy Sleepy just has to play.
Little Boy Sleepy won't be undressed;
"Just one more minute to play, my oh!"
His little lead soldier looks sodistressed,
And his paper rooster hangs down his crest,
And the little wool-dog just begs for rest,
And the Jack-in-the-Box looks worlds of woe.
Little Boy Sleepy won't be undressed.
Little Boy Sleepy lifts up his voice:
"I want to play with my toys some mo!
I am not sleepy! I want my toys!
My little toy-cat and my bears and boys,
And my little toy-train that makes a noise,
And the little tin-horn I blow and blow."
Little Boy Sleepy lifts up his voice.
Little Boy Sleepy just sighs and sighs;
And then he mutters, "It is n't so!
It is n't night! I must make some pies,
Some little mud pies!" and then his eyes
Just seem to close and down he lies
In his mother's arms who rocks him slow,
Little Boy Sleepy just sighs and sighs.
Nursery Rhyme. DCVI. Local.
by Unknown

Little boy, pretty boy, where was you born?
In Lincolnshire, master: come blow the cow's horn.
A half-penny pudding, a penny pie,
A shoulder of mutton, and that love I.
Elsie: A Memory.
by Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Little elfin maid,
Old, though scarce two years,
With your big dark hazel eyes
Tenderer than tears,
And your rosebud mouth
Lisping jocund things,
Breaking brooding silence with
Wistful questionings!
Like a flower you grew
While life's bright sun shone.
Does the greedy spendthrift earth
Heed a flower is gone?
No; but Love's fond ken,
That gropes through Death's strange ways,
Almost seems to hear your Voice,
Seems to see your Face!
Philanthropists
by Unknown

Little grains of short weight,
Little crooked twists,
Fill the land with magnates
And philanthropists.
Over The Range
by Banjo Paterson (Andrew Barton)

Little bush maiden, wondering-eyed,
Playing alone in the creek-bed dry,
In the small green flat on every side
Walled in by the Moonbi ranges high;
Tell me the tale of your lonely life
'Mid the great grey forests that know no change.
"I never have left my home," she said,
"I have never been over the Moonbi Range.
"Father and mother are long since dead,
And I live with granny in yon wee place."
"Where are your father and mother?" I said.
She puzzled awhile with thoughtful face,
Then a light came into the shy brown face,
And she smiled, for she thought the question strange
On a thing so certain, "When people die
They go to the country over the range."
"And what is this country like, my lass?"
"There are blossoming trees and pretty flowers
And shining creeks where the golden grass
Is fresh and sweet from the summer showers.
They never need work, nor want, nor weep;
No troubles can come their hearts to estrange.
Some summer night I shall fall asleep,
And wake in the country over the range."
Child, you are wise in your simple trust,
For the wisest man knows no more than you.
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust:
Our views by a range are bounded too;
But we know that God hath this gift in store,
That, when we come to the final change,
We shall meet with our loved ones gone before
To the beautiful country over the range.
One By One
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Little by little and one by one,
Out of the ether, were worlds created;
Star and planet and sea and sun,
All in the nebulous Nothing waited
Till the Nameless One Who has many a name
Called them to being and forth they came.
All things mighty and all things small,
Stone and flower and sentient being,
Each is an answer to that one call,
A part of Himself that His will is freeing - 
Freeing to go on the long, long way
That winds back home at the end of the day.
Little by little does mortal man
Build his castles for joy and glory,
And one by one time shatters each plan
And lowers his palaces, story by story-
Story by story, till earth is just
A row of graves in the lowly dust.
One by one, whatever was called,
Must be called back to the primal Centre.
Let no soul tremble or be appalled,
For the heart of the Maker is where we enter - 
Is where we enter to gain new force
Before we are sent on another course.
And one by one, as He calls us back,
We shall find the souls that we loved with passion,
In the great way-stations along the track,
And clasp them again in the old, sweet fashion - 
In the old, sweet fashion when earth we trod - 
And journey along with them up to God.
A Tale For Th' Childer, On Christmas Eve.
by John Hartley

Little childer, - little childer;
Harken to an old man's ditty;
Tho yo live ith' country village, - 
Tho yo live ith' busy city.
Aw've a little tale to tell yo, - 
One 'at ne'er grows stale wi' tellin, - 
It's abaat One who to save yo,
Here amang men made His dwellin.
Riches moor nor yo can fancy, - 
Moor nor all this world has in it, - 
He gave up becoss He loved yo,
An He's lovin yo this minnit.
All His power, pomp and glory,
Which to think on must bewilder, - 
All He left, - an what for think yo?
Just for love ov little childer.
In a common, lowly stable
He wor laid, an th' stars wor twinklin,
As if angel's 'een wor peepin
On His face 'at th' dew wor sprinklin.
An one star, like a big lantern,
Shepherds who ther flocks wor keepin,
Saw, an foller'd till it rested
Just aboon whear He wor sleepin.
Then strange music an sweet voices
Seem'd to sing reight aght o' Heaven,
"Unto us a child is born!
Unto us a son is given!"
Then coom wise men thro strange nations, - 
Young men an men old an hoary, - 
An they all knelt daan befoor Him,
An araand Him shone a glory.
Then a King thowt he wod kill Him,
Tho he reckoned net to mind Him,
But they went to a strange country,
Whear this bad King couldn't find Him.
An He grew up strong and sturdy,
An He sooin began His praichin,
An big craads stood raand to listen,
An they wondered at His taichin.
Then some sed bad things abaat Him,
Called Him names, laft at an jeered Him; - 
Sed He wor a base imposter,
For they hated, yet they feeard Him.
Some believed in His glad tidins, - 
Saw Him cure men ov ther blindness, - 
Saw Him make once-deead fowk livin,
Saw Him full o' love an kindness.
Wicked men at last waylaid Him,
Drag'd Him off to jail and tried Him,
Tho noa fault they could find in Him,
Yet they cursed an crucified Him.
Nubdy knows ha mich He suffered;
But His work on earth wor ended: - 
From the grave whear they had laid Him,
Into Heaven He ascended.
Love like His may well bewilder, - 
Sinners weel may bow befoor Him; - 
Nah He waits for th' little childer,
Up in Heaven whear saints adore Him.
Think when sittin raand yor hearthstun,
An the Kursmiss bells are ringing,
Ha He lived an died at yo may
Join those angels in ther singin.
Little Iack Horner
by Walter Crane

Little Jack Horner sat in a corner,
Eating a Christmas pie;
He put in his thumb, and pulled out a plum,
And said, "What a good boy am I!"
Liza May
by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Little brown face full of smiles,
And a baby's guileless wiles,
Liza May, Liza May.
Eyes a-peeping thro' the fence
With an interest intense,
Liza May.
Ah, the gate is just ajar,
And the meadow is not far,
Liza May, Liza May.
And the road feels very sweet,
To your little toddling feet,
Liza May.
Ah, you roguish runaway,
What will toiling mother say,
Liza May, Liza May?
What care you who smile to greet
Everyone you chance to meet,
Liza May?
Soft the mill-race sings its song,
Just a little way along,
Liza May, Liza May.
But the song is full of guile,
Turn, ah turn, your steps the while,
Liza May.
You have caught the gleam and glow
Where the darkling waters flow,
Liza May, Liza May.
Flash of ripple, bend of bough,
Where are all the angels now?
Liza May.
Now a mother's eyes intense
Gazing o'er a shabby fence,
Liza May, Liza May.
Then a mother's anguished face
Peering all around the place,
Liza May.
Hear the agonizing call
For a mother's all in all,
Liza May, Liza May.
Hear a mother's maddened prayer
To the calm unanswering air,
Liza May.
What's become of--Liza May?
What has darkened all the day?
Liza May, Liza May.
Ask the waters dark and fleet,
If they know the smiling, sweet
Liza May.
Call her, call her as you will,
On the meadow, on the hill,
Liza May, Liza May.
Through the brush or beaten track
Echo only gives you back,
Liza May.
Ah, but you were loving--sweet,
On your little toddling feet,
Liza May, Liza May.
But through all the coming years,
Must a mother breathe with tears,
Liza May.
The Robin
by Virna Sheard

Little brown brother, up in the apple tree,
High on its blossom-rimmed branches aswing,
Here where I listen earth-bound, it seems to me
You are the voice of the spring.
Herald of Hope to the sad and faint-hearted,
Piper the gold of the world cannot pay,
Up from the limbo of things long departed
Memories you bring me to-day.
You are the echo of songs that are over,
You are the promise of songs that will come,
You know the music, oh, light-winged rover,
Sealed in the souls of the dumb.
All of the past that we wearily sigh for,
All of the future for which our hearts long,
All Love would live for, and all Love would die for
Wordless, you weave in a song.
Little brown brother, up in the apple tree,
My spirit answers each note that you sing,
And while I listen - earth-bound - it seems to me
You are the voice of the spring.
Aviators
by Unknown

Little drops in water -
Little drops on land -
Make the aviator,
Join the heavenly band.
Nursery Rhyme. DLXXXIX. Natural History.
by Unknown

Little boy blue, come blow up your horn,
The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn;
Where's the little boy that looks after the sheep?
He's under the hay-cock fast asleep.
Will you wake him? No, not I;
For if I do, he'll be sure to cry.
Nursery Rhyme. CCCCXXXII. Jingles.
by Unknown

Little Dicky Dilver
Had a wife of silver,
He took a stick and broke her back,
And sold her to the miller;
The miller would'nt have her,
So he threw her in the river.
Song - To The Child Julia
by James Whitcomb Riley

[R.H.]
Little Julia, since that we
May not as our elders be,
Let us blithely fill the days
Of our youth with pleasant plays.
First we'll up at earliest dawn,
While as yet the dew is on
The sooth'd grasses and the pied
Blossomings of morningtide;
Next, with rinsed cheeks that shine
As the enamell'd eglantine,
We will break our fast on bread
With both cream and honey spread;
Then, with many a challenge-call,
We will romp from house and hall,
Gypsying with the birds and bees
Of the green-tress'd garden trees.
In a bower of leaf and vine
Thou shalt be a lady fine
Held in duress by the great
Giant I shall personate.
Next, when many mimics more
Like to these we have played o'er,
We'll betake us home-along
Hand in hand at evensong.
The Sigh
by Thomas Hardy

Little head against my shoulder,
Shy at first, then somewhat bolder,
And up-eyed;
Till she, with a timid quaver,
Yielded to the kiss I gave her;
But, she sighed.
That there mingled with her feeling
Some sad thought she was concealing
It implied.
- Not that she had ceased to love me,
None on earth she set above me;
But she sighed.
She could not disguise a passion,
Dread, or doubt, in weakest fashion
If she tried:
Nothing seemed to hold us sundered,
Hearts were victors; so I wondered
Why she sighed.
Afterwards I knew her throughly,
And she loved me staunchly, truly,
Till she died;
But she never made confession
Why, at that first sweet concession,
She had sighed.
It was in our May, remember;
And though now I near November,
And abide
Till my appointed change, unfretting,
Sometimes I sit half regretting
That she sighed.
Chipmunk
by Richard Le Gallienne

Little chipmunk, do you know
All you mean to me? - 
She and I and Long Ago,
And you there in the tree;
With that nut between your paws,
Half-way to your twittering jaws,
Jaunty with your strip'd coat,
Puffing out your furry throat,
Eyes like some big polished seed,
Plumed tail curved like half a lyre . . .
We pretended not to heed - 
You, as though you would inquire
"Can I trust them?" . . . then a jerk,
And you'd skipped three branches higher,
Jaws again at work;
Like a little clock-work elf,
With all the forest to itself.
She was very fair to see,
She was all the world to me,
She has gone whole worlds away;
Yet it seems as though to-day,
Chipmunk, I can hear her say;
"Get that chipmunk, dear, for me - - "
Chipmunk, you can never know
All she was to me.
That's all - it was long ago.
Little Drops Of Water
by Louisa May Alcott

"Little drops of water,
Little drains of sand,
Mate a might okum (ocean),
And a peasant land.
"Little words of kindness,
Pokin evvy day,
Make a home a hebbin,
And hep us on a way."
Dame Spider.
by Clara Doty Bates

Little Dame Spider had finished her spinning,
Just as the warm summer day was beginning,
And the white threads of her beautiful curtain
Tied she and glued she to make them more certain.
Dressed in her old-fashioned feathers and fringes,
Then she sat down to wait; on silken hinges
Swung the light fleece with a moonshiny glisten;
Nothing for her but to watch and to listen.
Presently, going off early to labor,--
Bowing politely, as neighbor to neighbor,
When he caught sight of this little old woman,--
Sailed by a honey-bee, serge-clad and common.
"Are you so scornful because I am humble?
Many a time your rich relatives, Bumble,
Pause in their flying to chat for an hour!"
She called out after him, half gay, half sour.
"O, no," he cried. "I am off to discover
What I can find fresh in the way of white clover;
But since your window is cosy and shady,
I will sit down half a minute, dear Lady."
Little Dame Spider arose with a rustle,
Welcomed him with ceremonious bustle;
Quick as a flash threw her long arms around him,
Heeded no buzzing, but held him and bound him;
Tied knots so tight that he could not undo them;
Wove snares so strong that he could not break through them;
Then, with a relish, stood chuckling and grinning,
"This is to pay me for my early spinning!"
At the home-hive the bees going and coming
Kept up all day their industrious humming,
Nor did it one of their busy heads bother
That Madame Spider had dined off their brother.
Little Girlie Good Enough
by Madison Julius Cawein

Little Girlie Good Enough
Lives right there across the street;
Neater than a powder-puff,
Yes she is, and just as sweet:
Bows and ribbons on her hair,
And her frock just so. Declare,
Looks just like a doll, she does;
Best girl that there ever was.
Little Girlie Good Enough
Never answers people back.
Spick and span from shoe to cuff,
Brighter than a brand new tack.
Knows her lessons every day;
Never loiters on her way:
Teeth like two clean rows of pearls.
She's the very best of girls.
Little Girlie Good Enough
Never goes with shoes untied;
Never, never's rude or rough;
She's her parent's joy and pride
Never cries for candy, nor
For the things not good for her:
Hair is always combed and curled.
She's the best girl in the world.
Little Girlie Good Enough
Never gets her dresses soiled;
Never plays with mud or stuff;
And her face looks like it's oiled
It's so clean and shiny. She
Never's even out at knee;
Stockings perfect, always so.
She's the best girl that I know.
Little Girlie Good Enough
Wish I was as good as she!
Never flies into a huff,
Makes a scene like you or me
Only speaks when spoken to;
Never talks like me and you
When there's company to tea.
She's a good girl; yes sir-ee.
Little Girlie Good Enough
I don't like you, never could.
Think you're nothing but a muff,
And that you are far too good.
Never kissed a boy! oh my!
Never played the game Hi Spy,
Lost the Handkerchief, or such!
You're too good to even touch.
Little Girlie Good Enough,
Some one's going to do for you;
Going to treat you good and tough,
Spatter you from head to shoe;
Pull your hair and scratch your face,
Send you home in great disgrace;
Show you you're not up to snuff,
Little Girlie Good Enough.
The Lepracaun Or Fairy Shoemaker
by William Allingham

Little Cowboy, what have you heard,
Up on the lonely rath's green mound?
Only the plaintive yellow bird
Sighing in sultry fields around,
Chary, chary, chary, chee-ee!,
Only the grasshopper and the bee?,
'Tip-tap, rip-rap,
Tick-a-tack-too!
Scarlet leather, sewn together,
This will make a shoe.
Left, right, pull it tight;
Summer days are warm;
Underground in winter,
Laughing at the storm!'
Lay your ear close to the hill.
Do you not catch the tiny clamour,
Busy click of an elfin hammer,
Voice of the Lepracaun singing shrill
As he merrily plies his trade?
He's a span
And a quarter in height.
Get him in sight, hold him tight,
And you're a made
Man!
You watch your cattle the summer day,
Sup on potatoes, sleep in the hay;
How would you like to roll in your carriage,
Look for a duchess's daughter in marriage?
Seize the Shoemaker,then you may!
'Big boots a-hunting,
Sandals in the hall,
White for a wedding-feast,
Pink for a ball.
This way, that way,
So we make a shoe;
Getting rich every stitch,
Tick-tack-too!'
Nine-and-ninety treasure-crocks
This keen miser-fairy hath,
Hid in mountains, woods, and rocks,
Ruin and round-tow'r, cave and rath,
And where the cormorants build;
From times of old
Guarded by him;
Each of them fill'd
Full to the brim
With gold!
I caught him at work one day, myself,
In the castle-ditch where foxglove grows,,
A wrinkled, wizen'd, and bearded Elf,
Spectacles stuck on his pointed nose,
Silver buckles to his hose,
Leather apron,shoe in his lap,
'Rip-rap, tip-tap,
Tick-tack-too!
(A grasshopper on my cap!
Away the moth flew!)
Buskins for a fairy prince,
Brogues for his son,,
Pay me well, pay me well,
When the job is done!'
The rogue was mine, beyond a doubt.
I stared at him; he stared at me;
'Servant, Sir!' 'Humph!' says he,
And pull'd a snuff-box out.
He took a long pinch, look'd better pleased,
The queer little Lepracaun;
Offer'd the box with a whimsical grace,,
Pouf! he flung the dust in my face,
And while I sneezed,
Was gone!
Nursery Rhyme. CCCCXVIII. Jingles.
by Unknown

Little Jack a Dandy
Wanted sugar-candy,
And fairly for it cried;
But little Billy Cook
Who always reads his book,
Shall have a horse to ride.
The Fly
by William Blake

Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength and breath
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
Nursery Rhyme. DLXXIX. Natural History.
by Unknown

Little cock robin peep'd out of his cabin,
To see the cold winter come in,
Tit, for tat, what matter for that,
He'll hide his head under his wing!
Nursery Rhyme. CCCCLXXXII. Love And Matrimony.
by Unknown

Little John Jiggy Jag,
He rode a penny nag,
And went to Wigan to woo;
When he came to a beck,
He fell and broke his neck, - 
Johnny, how dost thou now?
I made him a hat,
Of my coat-lap,
And stockings of pearly blue.
A hat and a feather,
To keep out cold weather;
So, Johnny, how dost thou now?
My Little Girlie.
by Kate Greenaway

Little girlie tell to me
What your wistful blue eyes see?
Why you like to stand so high,
Looking at the far off sky.
Does a tiny Fairy flit
In the pretty blue of it?
Or is it that you hope so soon
To see the rising yellow Moon?
Or is it as I think I've heard 
You're looking for a little Bird
To come and sit upon a spray,
And sing the summer night away?
The Blind Archer
by Arthur Conan Doyle

Little boy Love drew his bow at a chance,
Shooting down at the ballroom floor;
He hit an old chaperone watching the dance,
And oh! but he wounded her sore.
'Hey, Love, you couldn't mean that!
Hi, Love, what would you be at?'
No word would he say,
But he flew on his way,
For the little boy's busy, and how could he stay?
Little boy Love drew a shaft just for sport
At the soberest club in Pall Mall;
He winged an old veteran drinking his port,
And down that old veteran fell.
'Hey, Love, you mustn't do that!
Hi, Love, what would you be at?
This cannot be right!
It's ludicrous quite!'
But it's no use to argue, for Love's out of sight.
A sad-faced young clerk in a cell all apart
Was planning a celibate vow;
But the boy's random arrow has sunk in his heart,
And the cell is an empty one now.
'Hey, Love, you mustn't do that!
Hi, Love, what would you be at?
He is not for you,
He has duties to do.'
'But I AM his duty,' quoth Love as he flew.
The king sought a bride, and the nation had hoped
For a queen without rival or peer.
But the little boy shot, and the king has eloped
With Miss No-one on Nothing a year.
'Hey, Love, you couldn't mean that!
Hi, Love, what would you be at?
What an impudent thing
To make game of a king!'
'But I'M a king also,' cried Love on the wing.
Little boy Love grew pettish one day;
'If you keep on complaining,' he swore,
'I'll pack both my bow and my quiver away,
And so I shall plague you no more.'
'Hey, Love, you mustn't do that!
Hi, Love, what would you be at?
You may ruin our ease,
You may do what you please,
But we can't do without you, you dear little tease!'
Ad Domnulam Suam
by Ernest Christopher Dowson

Little lady of my heart!
Just a little longer,
Love me: we will pass and part,
Ere this love grow stronger.
I have loved thee, Child! too well,
To do aught but leave thee:
Nay! my lips should never tell
Any tale, to grieve thee.
Little lady of my heart!
Just a little longer,
I may love thee: we will part,
Ere my love grow stronger.
Soon thou leavest fairy-land;
Darker grow thy tresses:
Soon no more of hand in hand;
Soon no more caresses!
Little lady of my heart!
Just a little longer,
Be a child: then, we will part,
Ere this love grow stronger.
Christmas.
by H. P. Nichols

"Little children, when rejoicing
In the merry Christmas morn,
'Mid your sports remember ever
'Tis the day that Christ was born.
"When on earth, the blessed Saviour
Said, 'Let children come to me,'
And the little ones he folded
In his arms, how tenderly!"
"But the Saviour is in heaven,
And we cannot see him now;
We cannot receive his blessing,
In his presence cannot bow."
"Listen. In the holy Bible,
Jesus Christ tells every child
That the way to gain his blessing
Is by being good and mild."
"Here on earth you may not see him;
But when this short life is done,
You shall live with him forever
Where there is no setting sun."
"So remember, Christmas morning,
That on earth the Saviour came;
And that still he guards and blesses
Every child who loves his name."