DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
Lady Jane.
by Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch

Sapphics.
Down the green hill-side fro' the castle window
Lady Jane spied Bill Amaranth a-workin';
Day by day watched him go about his ample
Nursery garden.
Cabbages thriv'd there, wi' a mort o' green-stuff--
Kidney beans, broad beans, onions, tomatoes,
Artichokes, seakale, vegetable marrows,
Early potatoes.
Lady Jane cared not very much for all these:
What she cared much for was a glimpse o' Willum
Strippin' his brown arms wi' a view to horti-
-Cultural effort.
Little guessed Willum, never extra-vain, that
Up the green hill-side, i' the gloomy castle,
Feminine eyes could so delight to view his
Noble proportions.
Only one day while, in an innocent mood,
Moppin' his brow ('cos 'twas a trifle sweaty)
With a blue kerchief--lo, he spies a white 'un
Coyly responding.
Oh, delightsome Love!    Not a jot do you care
For the restrictions set on human inter-
-course by cold-blooded social refiners;
Nor do I, neither.
Day by day, peepin' fro' behind the bean-sticks,
Willum observed that scrap o' white a-wavin',
Till his hot sighs out-growin' all repression
Busted his weskit.
Lady Jane's guardian was a haughty Peer, who
Clung to old creeds and had a nasty temper;
Can we blame Willum that he hardly cared to
Risk a refusal?
Year by year found him busy 'mid the bean-sticks,
Wholly uncertain how on earth to take steps.
Thus for eighteen years he beheld the maiden
Wave fro' her window.
But the nineteenth spring, i' the Castle post-bag,
Came by book-post Bill's catalogue o' seedlings
Mark'd wi' blue ink at 'Paragraphs relatin'
Mainly to Pumpkins.'
'W. A.    can,' so the Lady Jane read,
'Strongly commend that very noble Gourd, the
Lady Jane, first-class medal, ornamental;
Grows to a great height.'
Scarce a year arter, by the scented hedgerows--
Down the mown hill-side, fro' the castle gateway--
Came a long train and, i' the midst, a black bier,
Easily shouldered.
'Whose is yon corse that, thus adorned wi' gourd-leaves,
Forth ye bear with slow step?'    A mourner answer'd,
''Tis the poor clay-cold body Lady Jane grew
Tired to abide in.'
'Delve my grave quick, then, for I die to-morrow.
Delve it one furlong fro' the kidney bean-sticks,
Where I may dream she's goin' on precisely
As she was used to.'
Hardly died Bill when, fro' the Lady Jane's grave,
Crept to his white death-bed a lovely pumpkin:
Climb'd the house wall and over-arched his head wi'
Billowy verdure.
Simple this tale!--but delicately perfumed
As the sweet roadside honeysuckle.    That's why,
Difficult though its metre was to tackle,
I'm glad I wrote it.
De Profundis.
by John Hartley

Down in the deeps of dark despair and woe; - 
Of Death expectant; - Hope I put aside;
Counting the heartbeats, slowly, yet more slow, - 
Marking the lazy ebb of life's last tide.
Sweet Resignation, with her opiate breath,
Spread a light veil, oblivious, o'er the past,
And all unwilling handmaid to remorseless Death,
Shut out the pain of life's great scene, - the last.
When, lo! from out the mist a slender form
Took shape and forward pressed and two bright eyes
Shone as two stars that gleam athwart the storm,
Grandly serene, amid the cloud-fleck'd skies.
"Not yet," she said, "there are some sands to run,
Ere he has reached life's limit, and no grain
Shall lie unused. Then, when his fight is done,
Pronounce the verdict, - be it loss or gain."
I felt her right hand lightly smooth my brow,
Her left hand on my heart; and a sweet thrill
Swept all the strings of being, and the flow
Of a full harmony aroused the dormant will.
Death slunk away, sweet Resignation paled,
And Hope's bright star made all the future bright;
The clouds were rent; - a woman's love prevailed,
And dragged a sinking soul once more to love and light.
Angels there are who walk this troublous world,
Whose wings are hid beneath poor mortal clay,
Lest their effulgence to man's eyes unfurled,
Might scare the timid-hearted ones away.
The whispered word, the smile, the gentle tone,
Love-prompted from a woman's heaving breast,
Enforce her claim to make the world her throne,
Beyond compare, - of all God's gifts the best.
Down On The Shore
by William Allingham

Down on the shore, on the sunny shore! 
Where the salt smell cheers the land;
Where the tide moves bright under boundless light, 
And the surge on the glittering strand; 
Where the children wade in the shallow pools, 
Or run from the froth in play; 
Where the swift little boats with milk-white wings 
Are crossing the sapphire bay, 
And the ship in full sail, with a fortunate gale, 
Holds proudy on her way; 
Where the nets are spread on the grass to dry, 
And asleep, hard by, the fishermen lie, 
Under the tent of the warm blue sky, 
With the hushing wave on its golden floor 
To sing their lullaby. 
Down on the shore, on the stormy shore! 
Beset by a growling sea, 
Whose mad waves leap on the rocky steep 
Like wolves up a traveller's tree; 
Where the foam flies wide, and an angry blast 
Blows the curlew off, with a screech; 
Where the brown sea-wrack, torn up by the roots, 
Is flung out of fishes' reach; 
And the tall ship rolls on the hidden shoals, 
And scatters her planks on the beach; 
Where slate and straw through the village spin, 
And a cottage fronts the fiercest din 
With a sailor's wife sitting sad within, 
Hearkening the wind and the water's roar, 
Till at last her tears begin.
How are You, Sanitary?
by Bret Harte (Francis)

Down the picket-guarded lane
Rolled the comfort-laden wain,
Cheered by shouts that shook the plain,
Soldier-like and merry:
Phrases such as camps may teach,
Sabre-cuts of Saxon speech,
Such as 'Bully!' 'Them's the peach!'
'Wade in, Sanitary!'
Right and left the caissons drew
As the car went lumbering through,
Quick succeeding in review
Squadrons military;
Sunburnt men with beards like frieze,
Smooth-faced boys, and cries like these,
'U. S. San. Com.' 'That's the cheese!'
'Pass in, Sanitary!'
In such cheer it struggled on
Till the battle front was won:
Then the car, its journey done,
Lo! was stationary;
And where bullets whistling fly
Came the sadder, fainter cry,
'Help us, brothers, ere we die,
Save us, Sanitary!'
Such the work. The phantom flies,
Wrapped in battle clouds that rise:
But the brave whose dying eyes,
Veiled and visionary,
See the jasper gates swung wide,
See the parted throng outside
Hears the voice to those who ride:
'Pass in, Sanitary!'
Visions - Sonnet - 3
by William Browne

Down in a valley, by a forest's side,
Near where the crystal Thames rolls on her waves,
I saw a mushroom stand in haughty pride,
As if the lilies grew to be his slaves;
The gentle daisy, with her silver crown,
Worn in the breast of many a shepherd's lass;
The humble violet, that lowly down
Salutes the gay nymphs as they trimly pass:
These, with a many more, methought, complain'd
That Nature should those needless things produce,
Which not alone the sun from others gain'd
But turn it wholly to their proper use:
I could not choose but grieve that Nature made
So glorious flowers to live in such a shade.
Sonnet XV.
by Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch)

Piovonmi amare lagrime dal viso.
HIS STATE WHEN LAURA IS PRESENT, AND WHEN SHE DEPARTS.
Down my cheeks bitter tears incessant rain,
And my heart struggles with convulsive sighs,
When, Laura, upon you I turn my eyes,
For whom the world's allurements I disdain,
But when I see that gentle smile again,
That modest, sweet, and tender smile, arise,
It pours on every sense a blest surprise;
Lost in delight is all my torturing pain.
Too soon this heavenly transport sinks and dies:
When all thy soothing charms my fate removes
At thy departure from my ravish'd view.
To that sole refuge its firm faith approves
My spirit from my ravish'd bosom flies,
And wing'd with fond remembrance follows you.
CAPEL LOFFT.
Tears, bitter tears adown my pale cheek rain,
Bursts from mine anguish'd breast a storm of sighs,
Whene'er on you I turn my passionate eyes,
For whom alone this bright world I disdain.
True! to my ardent wishes and old pain
That mild sweet smile a peaceful balm supplies,
Rescues me from the martyr fire that tries,
Rapt and intent on you whilst I remain;
Thus in your presence--but my spirits freeze
When, ushering with fond acts a warm adieu,
My fatal stars from life's quench'd heaven decay.
My soul released at last with Love's apt keys
But issues from my heart to follow you,
Nor tears itself without much thought away.
MACGREGOR.
On Seeing A Beautiful Boy At Play.
by Nathaniel Parker Willis

Down the green slope he bounded. Raven curls
From his white shoulders by the winds were swept,
And the clear color of his sunny cheek
Was bright with motion. Through his open lips
Shone visibly a delicate line of pearl,
Like a white vein within a rosy shell,
And his dark eye's clear brilliance, as it lay
Beneath his lashes, like a drop of dew
Hid in the moss, stole out as covertly
As starlight from the edging of a cloud.
I never saw a boy so beautiful.
His step was like the stooping of a bird,
And his limbs melted into grace like things
Shaped by the wind of summer. He was like
A painter's fine conception - such an one
As he would have of Ganymede, and weep
Upon his pallet that he could not win
The vision to his easel. Who could paint
The young and shadowless spirit? Who could chain
The visible gladness of a heart that lives,
Like a glad fountain, in the eye of light,
With an unbreathing pencil? Nature's gift
Has nothing that is like it. Sun and stream,
And the new leaves of June, and the young lark
That flees away into the depths of heaven,
Lost in his own wild music, and the breath
Of springtime, and the summer eve, and noon
In the cool autumn, are like fingers swept
Over sweet-toned affections - but the joy
That enters to the spirit of a child
Is deep as his young heart: his very breath,
The simple sense of being, is enough
To ravish him, and like a thrilling touch
He feels each moment of his life go by.
Beautiful, beautiful childhood! with a joy
That like a robe is palpable, and flung
Out by your every motion! delicate bud
Of the immortal flower that will unfold
And come to its maturity in heaven!
I weep your earthly glory. 'Tis a light
Lent to the new born spirit that goes out
With the first idle wind. It is the leaf
Fresh flung upon the river, that will dance
Upon the wave that stealeth out its life,
Then sink of its own heaviness. The face
Of the delightful earth will to your eye
Grow dim; the fragrance of the many flowers
Be noticed not, and the beguiling voice
Of nature in her gentleness will be
To manhood's senseless ear inaudible.
I sigh to look upon thy face, young boy!
Down By The Salley Gardens
by William Butler Yeats

Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white
feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the
tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her would not
agree.
In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white
hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.
Buzz Phrase
by Paul Cameron Brown

Down on your luck
or, as they say, "financially embarrassed" ...
with little in the way of hope,
less palaver    - 
drifting in & out of theme parks not unlike
El Paso, Prairie Junction
between jobs, causes and wives...
letting "it all hang out", in the jumble of the moranese
letting despair and the pig iron law of economics
have their say    - 
shouting "moral support" in the face of the rocky
"well-wisher".
I read all the plots and each ends up as a grave...
once in a single afternoon I even gave up on
golddiggers
who, though just passing through meant dress rehearsal
for the bigger jive, "longterm"
and since when should "patching up and catching up"
make starry-eyed even that slip of a girl, commitment.
A Florida Ghost.
by Sidney Lanier

Down mildest shores of milk-white sand,
By cape and fair Floridian bay,
Twixt billowy pines - a surf asleep on land -
And the great Gulf at play,
Past far-off palms that filmed to nought,
Or in and out the cunning keys
That laced the land like fragile patterns wrought
To edge old broideries,
The sail sighed on all day for joy,
The prow each pouting wave did leave
All smile and song, with sheen and ripple coy,
Till the dusk diver Eve
Brought up from out the brimming East
The oval moon, a perfect pearl.
In that large lustre all our haste surceased,
The sail seemed fain to furl,
The silent steersman landward turned,
And ship and shore set breast to breast.
Under a palm wherethrough a planet burned
We ate, and sank to rest.
But soon from sleep's dear death (it seemed)
I rose and strolled along the sea
Down silver distances that faintly gleamed
On to infinity.
Till suddenly I paused, for lo!
A shape (from whence I ne'er divined)
Appeared before me, pacing to and fro,
With head far down inclined.
`A wraith' (I thought) `that walks the shore
To solve some old perplexity.'
Full heavy hung the draggled gown he wore;
His hair flew all awry.
He waited not (as ghosts oft use)
To be `dearheaven'd!' and `oh'd!'
But briskly said: "Good-evenin'; what's the news?
Consumption? After boa'd?
"Or mebbe you're intendin' of
Investments? Orange-plantin'? Pine?
Hotel? or Sanitarium? What above
This yea'th CAN be your line?
"Speakin' of sanitariums, now,
Jest look 'ee here, my friend:
I know a little story, - well, I swow,
Wait till you hear the end!
"Some year or more ago, I s'pose,
I roamed from Maine to Floridy,
And, - see where them Palmettos grows?
I bought that little key,
"Cal'latin' for to build right off
A c'lossal sanitarium:
Big surf! Gulf breeze! Jest death upon a cough!
- I run it high, to hum!
"Well, sir, I went to work in style:
Bought me a steamboat, loaded it
With my hotel (pyazers more'n a mile!)
Already framed and fit,
"Insured 'em, fetched 'em safe around,
Put up my buildin', moored my boat,
COM-plete! then went to bed and slept as sound
As if I'd paid a note.
"Now on that very night a squall,
Cum up from some'eres - some bad place!
An' blowed an' tore an' reared an' pitched an' all,
- I had to run a race
"Right out o' bed from that hotel
An' git to yonder risin' ground,
For, 'twixt the sea that riz and rain that fell,
I pooty nigh was drowned!
"An' thar I stood till mornin' cum,
Right on yon little knoll of sand,
FreQUENTly wishin' I had stayed to hum
Fur from this tarnal land.
"When mornin' cum, I took a good
Long look, and - well, sir, sure's I'm ME -
That boat laid right whar that hotel had stood,
And HIT sailed out to sea!
"No: I'll not keep you: good-bye, friend.
Don't think about it much, - preehaps
Your brain might git see-sawin', end for end,
Like them asylum chaps,
"For here *I* walk, forevermore,
A-tryin' to make it gee,
How one same wind could blow my ship to shore
And my hotel to sea!"
Chadd's Ford, Pennsylvania, 1877.
Sunburnt Boys
by John Charles McNeill

Down on the Lumbee river
Where the eddies ripple cool
Your boat, I know, glides stealthily
About some shady pool.
The summer's heats have lulled asleep
The fish-hawk's chattering noise,
And all the swamp lies hushed about
You sunburnt boys.
You see the minnow's waves that rock
The cradled lily leaves.
From a far field some farmer's song,
Singing among his sheaves,
Comes mellow to you where you sit,
Each man with boatman's poise,
There, in the shimmering water lights,
You sunburnt boys.
I know your haunts:    each gnarly bole
That guards the waterside,
Each tuft of flags and rushes where
The river reptiles hide,
Each dimpling nook wherein the bass
His eager life employs
Until he dies--the captive of
You sunburnt boys.
You will not--will you?--soon forget
When I was one of you,
Nor love me less that time has borne
My craft to currents new;
Nor shall I ever cease to share
Your hardships and your joys,
Robust, rough-spoken, gentle-hearted
Sunburnt boys!
The Assault Heroic
by Robert von Ranke Graves

Down in the mud I lay,
Tired out by my long day
Of five damned days and nights,
Five sleepless days and nights, ...
Dream-snatched, and set me where
The dungeon of Despair
Looms over Desolate Sea,
Frowning and threatening me
With aspect high and steep, 
A most malignant keep.
My foes that lay within
Shouted and made a din,
Hooted and grinned and cried:
"Today we've killed your pride;
Today your ardour ends.
We've murdered all your friends;
We've undermined by stealth
Your happiness and your health.
We've taken away your hope;
Now you may droop and mope
To misery and to Death."
But with my spear of Faith,
Stout as an oaken rafter,
With my round shield of laughter,
With my sharp, tongue-like sword
That speaks a bitter word,
I stood beneath the wall
And there defied them all.
The stones they cast I caught
And alchemized with thought
Into such lumps of gold
As dreaming misers hold.
The boiling oil they threw
Fell in a shower of dew,
Refreshing me; the spears
Flew harmless by my ears,
Struck quivering in the sod;
There, like the prophet's rod,
Put leaves out, took firm root,
And bore me instant fruit.
My foes were all astounded,
Dumbstricken and confounded,
Gaping in a long row;
They dared not thrust nor throw.
Thus, then, I climbed a steep
Buttress and won the keep,
And laughed and proudly blew
My horn, "Stand to! Stand to!
Wake up, sir! Here's a new
Attack! Stand to! Stand to!"
On Reading The Life Of Haroun Er Reshid
by Madison Julius Cawein

Down all the lanterned Bagdad of our youth
He steals, with golden justice for the poor:
Within his palace you shall know the truth!
A blood-smeared headsman hides behind each door.
Dr. Sam
by Eugene Field

TO MISS GRACE KING
Down in the old French quarter,
Just out of Rampart street,
I wend my way
At close of day
Unto the quaint retreat
Where lives the Voodoo Doctor
By some esteemed a sham,
Yet I'll declare there's none elsewhere
So skilled as Doctor Sam
With the claws of a deviled crawfish,
The juice of the prickly prune,
And the quivering dew
From a yarb that grew
In the light of a midnight moon!
I never should have known him
But for the colored folk
That here obtain
And ne'er in vain
That wizard's art invoke;
For when the Eye that's Evil
Would him and his'n damn,
The negro's grief gets quick relief
Of Hoodoo-Doctor Sam.
With the caul of an alligator,
The plume of an unborn loon,
And the poison wrung
From a serpent's tongue
By the light of a midnight moon!
In all neurotic ailments
I hear that he excels,
And he insures
Immediate cures
Of weird, uncanny spells;
The most unruly patient
Gets docile as a lamb
And is freed from ill by the potent skill
Of Hoodoo-Doctor Sam;
Feathers of strangled chickens,
Moss from the dank lagoon,
And plasters wet
With spider sweat
In the light of a midnight moon!
They say when nights are grewsome
And hours are, oh! so late,
Old Sam steals out
And hunts about
For charms that hoodoos hate!
That from the moaning river
And from the haunted glen
He silently brings what eerie things
Give peace to hoodooed men:--
The tongue of a piebald 'possum,
The tooth of a senile 'coon,
The buzzard's breath that smells of death,
And the film that lies
On a lizard's eyes
In the light of a midnight moon!
At Carnoy
by Siegfried Loraine Sassoon

Down in the hollow there's the whole Brigade
Camped in four groups: through twilight falling slow
I hear a sound of mouth-organs, ill-played,
And murmur of voices, gruff, confused, and low.
Crouched among thistle-tufts I've watched the glow
Of a blurred orange sunset flare and fade;
And I'm content. To-morrow we must go
To take some curs'd Wood.... O world God made!
July 3rd, 1916.
The Berriers.
by Madison Julius Cawein

MORN.
Down silver precipices drawn
The red-wine cataracts of dawn
Pour soundless torrents wide and far,
Deluging each warm, floating star.
A sound of winds and brooks and wings,
Sweet woodland-fluted carolings,
Star radiance dashed on moss and fern,
Wet leaves that quiver, breathe, and burn;
Wet hills, hung heavily with woods,
Dew-drenched and drunken solitudes
Faint-murmuring elfin canticles;
Sound, light, and spicy boisterous smells,
And flowers and buds; tumultuous bees,
Wind-wafts and genii of the trees.
Thro' briers that trammel, one by one,
With swinging pails comes laughing on
A troop of youthful berriers,
Their wet feet glitt'ring where they pass
Thro' dew-drop studded tufts of grass:
And oh! their cheers, their merry cheers,
Wake Echo on her shrubby rock,
Whom dale and mountain answering mock
With rapid fairy horns, as if
Each mossy hill and weedy cliff
Had its imperial Oberon,
Who, seeking his Titania hid
In bloomy coverts him to shun,
In kingly wrath had called and chid.
EVENING.
Cloud-feathers oozing rich with light,
Slow trembling in the locks of Night,
Her dusky waist with sultry gold
Girdled and buckled fold on fold.
High stars; a sound of bleating flocks;
Gray, burly shadows fall'n 'mid rocks,
Like giant curses overthrown
By some Arthurian champion;
Soft-swimming sorceries of mist
Haunting glad glens of amethyst;
Low tinklings in dim clover dells
Of bland-eyed kine with brazen bells;
And where the marsh in reed and grass
Burns angry as a shattered glass.
The flies blur sudden blasts of shine,
Like wasted draughts of amber wine
Spun high by reeling Bacchanals
When Bacchus bredes his curling hair
With vine-leaves, and from ev'ry lair
Voluptuous M'nads lovely calls.
They come, they come, a happy throng,
The berriers with gibe and song;
Deep pails brimmed black to tin-white eaves
With luscious fruit kept cool with leaves
Of aromatic sassafras,
'Twixt which some sparkling berry slips,
Like laughter, from the purple mass,
Wine swollen as Silenus' lips.
In Hospital - XXIII - Music
by William Ernest Henley

Down the quiet eve,
Thro' my window with the sunset
Pipes to me a distant organ
Foolish ditties;
And, as when you change
Pictures in a magic lantern,
Books, beds, bottles, floor, and ceiling
Fade and vanish,
And I'm well once more . . .
August flares adust and torrid,
But my heart is full of April
Sap and sweetness.
In the quiet eve
I am loitering, longing, dreaming . . .
Dreaming, and a distant organ
Pipes me ditties.
I can see the shop,
I can smell the sprinkled pavement,
Where she serves - her chestnut chignon
Thrills my senses!
O, the sight and scent,
Wistful eve and perfumed pavement!
In the distance pipes an organ . . .
The sensation
Comes to me anew,
And my spirit for a moment
Thro' the music breathes the blessed
Airs of London.
Sunset In The City.
by Charles Hamilton Musgrove

Down at the end of the iron lane
I see the sunset's glare,
And the red bars lie across the sky
Like steps of a wondrous stair.
Below, the throng, with unlifted eye,
Sweeps on in its heedless flight
Where the street's black funnel pours its tide
Out into the deepening night.
And no one has stopped to read God's word
On the fiery heavens scrolled
Save an old man dreaming of boyhood's days,
And a boy who would fain be old.
The Mullein Meadow.
by Jean Blewett

Down in the mullein meadow
The lusty thistle springs,
The butterflies go criss-cross,
The lonesome catbird sings,
The alderbush is flaunting
Her blossoms white as snow - 
The same old mullein meadow
We played in long ago.
The waste land of the homestead,
The arid sandy spot,
Where reaper's song is never heard,
Where wealth is never sought,
But where the sunshine lingers,
And merry breezes come
To gather pungent perfumes
From the mullein-stalks abloom.
There's a playground on the hillside,
A playhouse in the glade,
With mulleins for a garden,
And mulleins for a shade.
And still the farmer grumbles
That nothing good will grow
In this old mullein meadow
We played in long ago!
Sonnet I
by Alan Seeger

Down the strait vistas where a city street
Fades in pale dust and vaporous distances,
Stained with far fumes the light grows less and less
And the sky reddens round the day's retreat.
Now out of orient chambers, cool and sweet,
Like Nature's pure lustration, Dusk comes down.
Now the lamps brighten and the quickening town
Rings with the trample of returning feet.
And Pleasure, risen from her own warm mould
Sunk all the drowsy and unloved daylight
In layers of odorous softness, Paphian girls
Cover with gauze, with satin, and with pearls,
Crown, and about her spangly vestments fold
The ermine of the empire of the Night.