DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
Stanzas
by William Wordsworth

Once I could hail (howe'er serene the sky)
The Moon re-entering her monthly round,
No faculty yet given me to espy
The dusky Shape within her arms imbound,
That thin memento of effulgence lost
Which some have named her Predecessor's ghost. .
Young, like the Crescent that above me shone,
Nought I perceived within it dull or dim;
All that appeared was suitable to One
Whose fancy had a thousand fields to skim;
To expectations spreading with wild growth,
And hope that kept with me her plighted troth.
I saw (ambition quickening at the view)
A silver boat launched on a boundless flood;
A pearly crest, like Dian's when it threw
Its brightest splendor round a leafy wood;
But not a hint from under-ground, no sign
Fit for the glimmering brow of Proserpine.
Or was it Dian's self that seemed to move
Before me ?, nothing blemished the fair sight;
On her I looked whom jocund fairies love,
Cynthia, who puts the little stars to flight,
And by that thinning magnifies the great,
For exaltation of her sovereign state.
And when I learned to mark the spectral Shape
As each new Moon obeyed the call of Time,
If gloom fell on me, swift was my escape;
Such happy privilege hath life's gay Prime,
To see or not to see, as best may please
A buoyant Spirit, and a heart at ease.
Now, dazzling Stranger! when thou meet'st my glance,
Thy dark Associate ever I discern;
Emblem of thought too eager to advance
While I salute my joys, thoughts sad or stern;
Shades of past bliss, or phantoms that, to gain
Their fill of promised lustre, wait in vain.
So changes mortal life with fleeting years;
A mournful change, should Reason fail to bring
The timely insight that can temper fears,
And from vicissitude remove its sting;
While Faith aspires to seats in that domain
Where joys are perfect, neither wax nor wane.
William Jones
by Edgar Lee Masters

Once in a while a curious weed unknown to me,
Needing a name from my books;
Once in a while a letter from Yeomans.
Out of the mussel-shells gathered along the shore
Sometimes a pearl with a glint like meadow rue:
Then betimes a letter from Tyndall in England,
Stamped with the stamp of Spoon River.
I, lover of Nature, beloved for my love of her,
Held such converse afar with the great
Who knew her better than I.
Oh, there is neither lesser nor greater,
Save as we make her greater and win from her keener delight.
With shells from the river cover me, cover me.
I lived in wonder, worshipping earth and heaven.
I have passed on the march eternal of endless life.
The King's Sabbath.
by Archibald Lampman

Once idly in his hall king Olave sat
Pondering, and with his dagger whittled chips;
And one drew near to him with austere lips,
Saying, "To-morrow is Monday," and at that
The king said nothing, but held forth his flat
Broad palm, and bending on his mighty hips,
Took up and mutely laid thereon the slips
Of scattered wood, as on a hearth, and gat
From off the embers near, a burning brand.
Kindling the pile with this, the dreaming Dane
Sat silent with his eyes set and his bland
Proud mouth, tight-woven, smiling, drawn with pain,
Watching the fierce fire flare, and wax, and wane,
Hiss and burn down upon his shrivelled hand.
The Boulder.
by Joseph Victor von Scheffel

Einst ziert' ich, den Aether durchsp'hend,
Als Spitze des Urgebirg's Stock,
Ruhm, Hoheit und Stellung verschm'hend,
Ward ich zum erratischen Block.
Once high on the mountain-peak rising,
In sunlight I shone like a flame;
But height and position despising,
A wandering boulder became.
They say of a thinker's bold sallies,
He goes where the ice will not bear;
I was beckoned to false hollow valleys,
By snow maids, seductive and fair.
Thus driven by furious fancies,
I went down the hill with a shout;
But atoned for my youthful romances
By a thousand years rolling about.
Cried the Glacier, his teeth sharply showing,
Here, my blade, you'll be polished right well,
And from my moraine-offal going,
As a stranger be borne from the dell.
Then be scratched and be scraped and be driven,
I rolled to a rock that was cracked,
But with blows was knocked upward to heaven,
Be twisted, be puffed, and be whacked.
Just try to be proper and decent
In chaotic upheavals of mud!
Down I sunk, down to periods recent,
When the ice wall went off in the flood.
And rough is the r'le he unravels
Who plays in an ice part - ah, me!
On a flake I set out on my travels,
And the ice cake soon melted at sea.
Plimp, plump! down I went to the bottom,
For ages lay sleeping in clay,
Until the heat finally caught 'em,
And Glacier and Flood dried away.
Then the Sun, with a hotter light blazing,
Shone down where the billows once played;
And with the rhinoceros grazing,
The mammoth was seen in the glade.
Now we from the driving ice fast-time
Are useful, although it be late,
And to heathen and Christian for pastime
Give stones for the Church and the State.
*     *     *     *     *
Two geologists made up this ditty
In the vale between Aar' and Reuss;
And the inn where they sang it, so witty,
Was all built of boulders of gneiss.
They sang with deep feeling dramatic,
To the landscape of Findling so fine;
Then went like two boulders erratic,
Both tumbling and stumbling with wine.
Translated From The German Of Joseph Victor Scheffel By Charles G. Leland.
How Herman Won The Cross
by Edward Dyson

Once in a blue eternity they gave us dabs of rum
To close the seams 'n' keep the flume in liquor-tight condition;
But, soft 'n' sentimental, when the long, cold evenin's come,
I'd dream me nibs was dronking' to the height of his ambition,
With rights of suction over all the breweries there are,
Where barrels squat, like Brahma gods, in Mother Hardy's bar.
I had me fit of longin' on the night the Germans came,
All breathin' lioke a gas attack. The air was halcholic.
We smelt 'em in the darkness, 'n' our rage went up in flame.
It was envy, squealin' envy, put the ginger in the frolic.
We shot 'em full of spelter, then went over it to spite
The swines what drunk the liquor that was ours by common right.
'If this ain't stopped, 'n' quick,' sez we, 'there won't be left a drop
To celebrate the vict'ry when we capture their position.'
I'm prowlin' blind, when sharp there comes a fond, familiar plop
Swung round a post, a German in a pitiful condition
Looms over me. He's sprung a cork, and shales a flask on high,
'N' sings of beer that touchin' it would make a butcher cry.
Sez he: 'Berloffed kamarid, you haf some drinks mit you.'
I meant to spike him where he waved, but altered me intention.
'N' 'If you put it thus,' sez I, 'I don't care if I do.'
We had a drink together. There's a tempor'y suspension
Of hostilities to sample contraband 'n' other stuff
In the enemy's possession. Which I think he's had enough.
That Hun had thirty pockets, 'n' he'd stowed a flask in each,
'N' presently I'm thinkin' I could love him like a brother.
He's talkin' fond 'n' friendly in outlandish parts of speech.
'You're prisoner of war,' I sez; 'n' then we had another.
Ten flasks he pours into his hat, 'n' fills it to the brim,
'N' weeps 'n' sez his frau she will be waitin' up for him.
We drink each other's health, 'n' know no henmity nor fear.
I see I've got to pinch him, but he's out to do his div. in,
'N' don't care if he don't go home till daylight doth appear.
Sez he: 'I pud you home to bed upside dot 'ouse you live in.'
He shakes his finger in me eye: 'Mein friendt, you're preddy trunk!'
Then arm in arm through No Man's land we does a social bunk.
There's Fear afoot. Comes more than once the glug of sudden death.
We're rockin' fine 'n' careless where the rifle fire is breakin',
'N' singin' most uproar'ous, in the bomb's disgustin' breath,
Of girls, 'n' drink, 'n' cheerful sprees, 'n' 'Herman thinks he's takin'
A cobber home to somewhere in an subbub damp 'n' dim,
Whereas I know fer certain it is me is takin' him.
Somehow, sometime, I lands him where he's safely put to bed.
I wake nex' day, 'n' holy smoke! I'm prisoner with the German.
Me mouth is like an ashpan, there's hot fish-bolts in me head,
'N' through the barb-wire peerin' is me foreigh cobber 'Erman.
'Ve capdure each lasd nighd,' sez he 'you home haf bring me, boss.'
For bravery in takin' me, he got the Iron Cross!
Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XXV.
by Thomas Moore

Once in each revolving year,
Gentle bird! we find thee here.
When Nature wears her summer-vest,
Thou comest to weave thy simple nest;
But when the chilling winter lowers.
Again thou seekest the genial bowers
Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile,
Where sunny hours for ever smile.
And thus thy pinion rests and roves,--
Alas! unlike the swarm of Loves,
That brood within this hapless breast,
And never, never change their nest!
Still every year, and all the year,
They fix their fated dwelling here;
And some their infant plumage try,
And on a tender winglet fly;
While in the shell, impregned with fires,
Still lurk a thousand more desires;
Some from their tiny prisons peeping,
And some in formless embryo sleeping.
Thus peopled, like the vernal groves,
My breast resounds, with warbling Loves;
One urchin imps the other's feather,
Then twin-desires they wing together,
And fast as they thus take their flight,
Still other urchins spring to light.
But is there then no kindly art,
To chase these Cupids from my heart;
Ah, no! I fear, in sadness fear,
They will for ever nestle here!
Song.
by Thomas Runciman

Once as the aureole
Day left the earth,
Faded, a twilight soul,
Memory, had birth:
Young were her sister souls, Sorrow and Mirth.
Dark mirrors are her eyes:
Wherein who gaze
See wan effulgencies
Flicker and blaze - 
Lorn fleeting shadows of beautiful days.
Scan those deep mirrors well
After long years:
Lo! what aforetime fell
In rain of tears,
In radiant glamour-mist now reappears.
See old wild gladness
Tamed now and coy;
Grief that was madness
Turned into joy.
Fate cannot harry them now, nor annoy.
Down from yon throbbing blue,
Passionless, fair,
Still faces look on you,
Sunlit their hair,
With a slow smile at your pleasure and care.
Life and death murmurings
From their lips go
In vaster music-rings;
Outward they flow,
Tenderer, wilder, than songs that we know.
Paradise: In A Dream
by Christina Georgina Rossetti

(Lyra Messianica, second edition, 1865.)
Once in a dream I saw the flowers
That bud and bloom in Paradise;
More fair they are than waking eyes
Have seen in all this world of ours.
And faint the perfume-bearing rose,
And faint the lily on its stem,
And faint the perfect violet
Compared with them.
I heard the songs of Paradise:
Each bird sat singing in his place;
A tender song so full of grace
It soared like incense to the skies.
Each bird sat singing to his mate
Soft cooing notes among the trees:
The nightingale herself were cold
To such as these.
I saw the fourfold River flow,
And deep it was, with golden sand;
It flowed between a mossy land
With murmured music grave and low.
It hath refreshment for all thirst,
For fainting spirits strength and rest:
Earth holds not such a draught as this
From east to west.
The Tree of Life stood budding there,
Abundant with its twelvefold fruits;
Eternal sap sustains its roots,
Its shadowing branches fill the air.
Its leaves are healing for the world,
Its fruit the hungry world can feed,
Sweeter than honey to the taste
And balm indeed.
I saw the gate called Beautiful;
And looked, but scarce could look, within;
I saw the golden streets begin,
And outskirts of the glassy pool.
Oh harps, oh crowns of plenteous stars,
Oh green palm-branches many-leaved - 
Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard,
Nor heart conceived.
I hope to see these things again,
But not as once in dreams by night;
To see them with my very sight,
And touch, and handle, and attain:
To have all Heaven beneath my feet
For narrow way that once they trod;
To have my part with all the saints,
And with my God.
Once I Pass'd Through A Populous City
by Walt Whitman

Once I pass'd through a populous city, imprinting my brain, for future use, with its shows, architecture, customs, and traditions;
Yet now, of all that city, I remember only a woman I casually met there, who detain'd me for love of me;
Day by day and night by night we were together, - All else has long been forgotten by me;
I remember, I say, only that woman who passionately clung to me;
Again we wander - we love - we separate again;
Again she holds me by the hand - I must not go!
I see her close beside me, with silent lips, sad and tremulous.
The Flower
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.
To and fro they went
Thro' my garden bower,
And muttering discontent
Cursed me and my flower.
Then it grew so tall
It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o'er the wall
Stole the seed by night.
Sow'd it far and wide
By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
"Splendid is the flower!"
Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,
For all have got the seed.
And some are pretty enough,
And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
Call it but a weed.
Th' Traitle Sop.
by John Hartley

Once in a little country taan
A grocer kept a shop,
And sell'd amang his other things,
Prime traitle-drink and pop;
Teah, coffee, currans, spenish juice,
Soft soap an' paader blue,
Presarves an' pickles, cinnamon,
Allspice an' pepper too.
An' hoasts o' other sooarts o' stuff
To sell to sich as came,
As figs, an' raisens, salt an' spice,
Too numerous to name.
One summer's day a waggon stood
Just opposite his door;
An' th' childer all gaped raand as if
They'd ne'er seen one afoor.
An' in it wor a traitle cask,
It wor a wopper too,
To get it aght they all wor fast
Which iver way to do.
But wol they stood an' parley'd thear,
Th' horse gave a sudden chuck,
An' aght it flew, an' bursting threw
All th' traitle into th' muck.
Then th' childer laff'd an' clapp'd their hands,
To them it seem'd rare fun;
But th' grocer ommost lost his wits
When he saw th' traitle run.
He stamp'd an' raved, an' then declared
He wodn't pay a meg!
An' th' carter vow'd until he did
He wodn't stir a peg.
He said he'd done his business reight, - 
He'd brought it up to th' door,
An' thear it wor, an' noa fair chap
Wod want him to do moor.
But wol they stamped, an' raved, an' swore,
An' vented aght ther spleen,
Th' childer wor thrang enough, you're sure,
All plaisterd up to th' een.
A neighbor chap saw th' state o' things,
An' pitied ther distress,
An' begg'd em not to be soa sour
Abaht soa sweet a mess;
"An' tha'd be sour," th' owd grocer sed,
"If th' job wor thine owd lad,
An' somdy wanted thee to pay
For what tha'd niver had."
"Th' fault isn't mine," said th' cart driver,
"My duty's done I hope?
I've brought him traitle, thear it is,
An' he mun sam it up."
Soa th' neighbor left em to thersen,
He'd nowt noa moor to say,
But went to guard what ther wor left,
An' send th' young brood away.
This didn't suit th' young lads a bit, - 
They didn't mean to stop,
They felt detarmin'd that they'd get
Another traitle sop.
They tried all ways but th' chap stood firm,
They couldn't get a lick,
An' some o'th' boldest gate a taste
O'th neighbor's walkin stick.
At last one said, "I know a plan
If we can scheme to do it,
We'll knock one daan bang into th' dolt,
An' let him roll reight throo it;"
"Agreed! agreed!" they all replied,
"An here comes little Jack,
He's foorced to pass cloise up this side,
We'll do it in a crack."
Poor Jack wor rayther short, an' came
Just like a suckin duck;
He little dream'd at th' sweets o' life
Wod ivver be his luck.
But daan they shoved him, an' he roll'd
Heead first bang into th' mess,
An' aght he coom a woeful seet,
As yo may easy guess.
They marched him off i' famous glee,
All stickified an' clammy,
Then licked him clean an' sent him hooam
To get lick'd by his mammy.
Then th' cartdriver an th' grocer came,
Booath in a dreadful flutter,
To save some, but they came too lat,
It all wor lost ith gutter:
It towt a lesson to em booath
Befoor that job wor ended,
To try (at stead o' falling aght)
If owt went wrang to mend it.
For wol fowk rave abaht ther loss,
Some sharper's sure to pop,
An' aght o' ther misfortunes
They'll contrive to get a sop.
Nursery Rhyme. DXXXII. Natural History.
by Unknown

Once I saw a little bird,
Come hop, hop, hop;
So I cried, little bird,
Will you stop, stop, stop?
And was going to the window,
To say how do you do?
But he shook his little tail,
And far away he flew.
The Poppet-Show
by Madison Julius Cawein

Once I gave a "poppa-show":
And I had the greatest fun!
Every boy and girl I know
That is, nearly every one,
Came to see it: I just put
Some old toys into a box;
Paper things that I had cut,
On a stage made out of blocks;
And the children came in flocks
When I called out, "Yo, ho, oh!
Pin to see the 'poppa-show.'"
Boy who lives next door, he came;
Took a peep and said, "That clown
'S worth the money, just the same
As most any show in town."
Then he went away and brought
Lot of girls and boys to see;
Brought so many that they fought,
And were bad as they could be:
It was like a Christmas-tree:
While I stood there shouting, "Ho!
Pin to see the 'poppa-show.'"
Some just laughed; and one or two
Said it was n't worth a pin:
And another said, "He knew
When he had been taken in."
And a little girl, who paid
A gold pin right out her dress,
Cried and said she was afraid
She'd be spanked at home unless
She received it back. I guess
She was spanked. I said, "You know,
Pin to see the 'poppa-show.'"
One boy tried to hit me then,
But the boy who lives next door
He got madder than a hen,
Knocked him down, right on the floor,
And then pulled him out and I
Helped him pull him. Then a girl
Laughed and one began to cry,
For, a boy, he pulled her curl:
Then the whole room was a whirl
While I shouted, "Oh, yo, ho!
Pin to see the 'poppa-show.'"
Then a big boy grabbed my box,
Threw it in the midst of all;
All the paper-dolls and blocks
Clattered on the floor or wall,
Made a mighty rumpus: one
Hit me on the head a slap,
And I yelled. But it was fun;
Did n't care a cent or rap.
Suddenly there came a tap
At the door, and I cried, "Ho!
Pin to see the 'poppa-show.'"
Then my mother and my nurse
Entered; and she said, "What boys!
Girls too! Could n't be much worse.
Making such a lot of noise.
You should all be sent to bed,
Or be whipped. I never knew
Children that were so ill-bred,
Nor a wilder, rowdier crew.
Wonder what'll become of you!
Now just pack yourselves and go!
No more pins or 'poppa-show.'"
And they went, and mother, she,
When the last of them was gone,
Left me in the nursery,
Made me put my night-clothes on:
And she took my pins away,
And I cried just fit to kill
But she gave them back next day,
When I promised I'd be still,
And not play like Jack and Jill,
Tumbling round and to and fro
With a noisy "poppa-show."
Queen Mab in the Village
by Vachel Lindsay

Once I loved a fairy,
Queen Mab it was.    Her voice
Was like a little Fountain
That bids the birds rejoice.
Her face was wise and solemn,
Her hair was brown and fine.
Her dress was pansy velvet,
A butterfly design.
To see her hover round me
Or walk the hills of air,
Awakened love's deep pulses
And boyhood's first despair;
A passion like a sword-blade
That pierced me thro' and thro':
Her fingers healed the sorrow
Her whisper would renew.
We sighed and reigned and feasted
Within a hollow tree,
We vowed our love was boundless,
Eternal as the sea.
She banished from her kingdom
The mortal boy I grew - 
So tall and crude and noisy,
I killed grasshoppers too.
I threw big rocks at pigeons,
I plucked and tore apart
The weeping, wailing daisies,
And broke my lady's heart.
At length I grew to manhood,
I scarcely could believe
I ever loved the lady,
Or caused her court to grieve,
Until a dream came to me,
One bleak first night of Spring,
Ere tides of apple blossoms
Rolled in o'er everything,
While rain and sleet and snowbanks
Were still a-vexing men,
Ere robin and his comrades
Were nesting once again.
I saw Mab's Book of Judgment - 
Its clasps were iron and stone,
Its leaves were mammoth ivory,
Its boards were mammoth bone, - 
Hid in her seaside mountains,
Forgotten or unkept,
Beneath its mighty covers
Her wrath against me slept.
And deeply I repented
Of brash and boyish crime,
Of murder of things lovely
Now and in olden time.
I cursed my vain ambition,
My would-be worldly days,
And craved the paths of wonder,
Of dewy dawns and fays.
I cried, "Our love was boundless,
Eternal as the sea,
O Queen, reverse the sentence,
Come back and master me!"
The book was by the cliff-side
Upon its edge upright.
I laid me by it softly,
And wept throughout the night.
And there at dawn I saw it,
No book now, but a door,
Upon its panels written,
"Judgment is no more."
The bolt flew back with thunder,
I saw within that place
A mermaid wrapped in seaweed
With Mab's immortal face,
Yet grown now to a woman,
A woman to the knee.
She cried, she clasped me fondly,
We soon were in the sea.
Ah, she was wise and subtle,
And gay and strong and sleek,
We chained the wicked sword-fish,
We played at hide and seek.
We floated on the water,
We heard the dawn-wind sing,
I made from ocean-wonders,
Her bridal wreath and ring.
All mortal girls were shadows,
All earth-life but a mist,
When deep beneath the maelstrom,
The mermaid's heart I kissed.
I woke beside the church-door
Of our small inland town,
Bowing to a maiden
In a pansy-velvet gown,
Who had not heard of fairies,
Yet seemed of love to dream.
We planned an earthly cottage
Beside an earthly stream.
Our wedding long is over,
With toil the years fill up,
Yet in the evening silence,
We drink a deep-sea cup.
Nothing the fay remembers,
Yet when she turns to me,
We meet beneath the whirlpool,
We swim the golden sea.
Once in a Saintly Passion
by James Thomson -  (Bysshe Vanolis)

Once in a saintly passion
I cried with desperate grief,
"O Lord, my heart is black with guile,
Of sinners I am chief."
Then stooped my guardian angel
And whispered from behind,
"Vanity, my little man,
You're nothing of the kind."
Old Hen And Young Cock.
by John Gay

Once an old hen led forth her brood
To scratch and glean and peck for food;
A chick, to give her wings a spell,
Fluttered and tumbled in a well.
The mother wept till day was done,
When she met with a grown-up son,
And thus addressed him: - "My dear boy,
Your years and vigour give me joy:
You thrash all cocks around, I'm told;
'Tis right, cocks should be brave and bold:
But never - fears I cannot quell - 
Never, my son, go near that well;
A hateful, false, and wretched place,
Which is most fatal to my race.
Imprint that counsel on your breast,
And trust to providence the rest."
He thanked the dame's maternal care,
And promised never to go near.
Yet still he burned to disobey,
And hovered round it day by day;
And communed thus: "I wonder why?
Does mother think my soul is shy?
Thinks me a coward? or does she
Store grain in yonder well from me?
I'll find that out, and so here goes."
So said, he flaps his wings and crows,
Mounted the margin, peered below,
Where to repel him rose a foe.
His choler rose, his plumes upreared - 
With ruffled plumes the foe appeared.
Challenged to fight - he dashed him down
Upon the mirrored wave to drown;
And drowning uttered: "This condition
Comes from my mother's prohibition.
Did she forget, or not believe,
That I too am a son of Eve?"
On The Extinction Of The Venetian Republic
by William Wordsworth

Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee;
And was the safeguard of the west: the worth
Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty.
She was a maiden City, bright and free;
No guile seduced, no force could violate;
And, when she took unto herself a Mate,
She must espouse the everlasting Sea.
And what if she had seen those glories fade,
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid
When her long life hath reached its final day:
Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade
Of that which once was great is passed away.