DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
A Bit of Gladness.
by Hattie Howard

As I near my lonely cottage,
At the close of weary day,
There's a little bit of gladness
Comes to meet me on the way:
Dimpled, tanned, and petticoated,
Innocent as angels are,
Like a smiling, straying sunbeam
Is my Stella - like a star.
Soon a hand of tissue-softness
Slips confidingly in mine,
And with tender look appealing
Eyes of beauty sweetly shine;
Like a gentle shepherd guiding
Some lost lamb unto the fold,
So she leads me homeward, prattling
Till her stories are all told.
"Papa, I'm so glad to see you - 
Cousin Mabel came today - 
And the gas-man brought a letter
That he said you'd better pay - 
Yes, and awful things is happened:
My poor kitty's drowned to death - 
Mamma's got the 'Pigs in Clover' - "
Here she stops for want of breath.
I am like the bold knight-errant,
From his castle who would roam,
Trusting her, my faithful steward,
For a strict account of home;
And each day I toil, and hazard
All that any man may dare,
For a resting-place at even,
And the love that waits me there.
And sometimes I look with pity
On my neighbor's mansion tall:
There are chambers full of pictures,
There are marbles in the hall,
Yet with all the signs of splendor
That may gild a pile of stone,
Not a living thing about it
But the owner, grim and lone.
I believe that all his millions
He would give without repine
For a little bit of gladness
In his life, like that in mine;
This it is that makes my pathway
Beautiful, wherever trod,
Keeps my soul from wreck and ruin,
Keeps me nearer to my God.
A Vision.
by Edward Woodley Bowling

As hard at work I trimmed the midnight lamp,
Yfilling of mine head with classic lore,
Mine hands firm clasped upon my temples damp,
Methought I heard a tapping at the door;
'Come in,' I cried, with most unearthly rore,
Fearing a horrid Dun or Don to see,
Or Tomkins, that unmitigated bore,
Whom I love not, but who alas! loves me,
And cometh oft unbid and drinketh of my tea.
'Come in,' I rored; when suddenly there rose
A magick form before my dazzled eyes:
'Or do I wake,' I asked myself 'or doze'?
Or hath an angel come in mortal guise'?
So wondered I; but nothing mote surmise;
Only I gazed upon that lovely face,
In reverence yblent with mute surprise:
Sure never yet was seen such wondrous grace,
Since Adam first began to run his earthlie race.
Her hands were folded on her bosom meek;
Her sweet blue eyes were lifted t'ward the skie;
Her lips were parted, yet she did not speak;
Only at times she sighed, or seemed to sigh:
In all her 'haviour was there nought of shy;
Yet well I wis no Son of Earth would dare,
To look with love upon that lofty eye;
For in her beauty there was somewhat rare,
A something that repell'd an ordinary stare.
Then did she straight a snowycloth disclose
Of samite, which she placed upon a chair:
Then, smiling like a freshly-budding rose,
She gazed upon me with a witching air,
As mote a Cynic anchorite ensnare.
Eftsoons, as though her thoughts she could not smother,
She hasted thus her mission to declare: - 
'Please, these is your clean things I've brought instead of brother,
'And if you'll pay the bill you'll much oblige my mother.'
(1860).
Sonnet: As From The Darkening Gloom A Silver Dove
by John Keats

As from the darkening gloom a silver dove
Upsoars, and darts into the eastern light,
On pinions that nought moves but pure delight,
So fled thy soul into the realms above,
Regions of peace and everlasting love;
Where happy spirits, crown'd with circlets bright
Of starry beam, and gloriously bedight,
Taste the high joy none but the blest can prove.
There thou or joinest the immortal quire
In melodies that even heaven fair
Fill with superior bliss, or, at desire,
Of the omnipotent Father, cleav'st the air
On holy message sent, What pleasure's higher?
Wherefore does any grief our joy impair?
When He Tries The Hearts Of Men
by William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham)

As gold is tried in the furnace,
So He tries the hearts of men;
And the dwale and the dross shall suffer loss,
When He tries the hearts of men.
And the wood, and the hay, and the stubble
Shall pass in the flame away,
For gain is loss, and loss is gain,
And treasure of earth is poor and vain,
When He tries the hearts of men.
As gold is refined in the furnace,
So He fines the hearts of men.
The purge of the flame doth rid them of shame,
When He tries the hearts of men.
O, better than gold, yea, than much fine gold,
When He tries the hearts of men,
Are Faith, and Hope, and Truth, and Love,
And the Wisdom that cometh from above,
When He tries the hearts of men.
The Vanity Of All Worldly Things.
by Anne Bradstreet

As he said vanity, so vain say I,
Oh! vanity, O vain all under Sky;
Where is the man can say, lo, I have found
On brittle Earth a Consolation sound?
What is't in honour to be set on high?
No, they like Beasts and Sons of men shall dye,
And whil'st they live, how oft doth turn their fate;
He's now a captive that was King of late.
What is't in wealth, great Treasures to obtain?
No that's but labour, anxious care and pain.
He heaps up riches, and he heaps up sorrow,
It's his to day, but who's his heir to morrow?
What then? Content in pleasures canst thou find,
More vain then all, that's but to grasp the wind.
The sensual senses for a time they please.
Mean while the conscience rage, who shall appease?
What is't in beauty? No that's but a snare,
They're foul enough to day, that once were fair.
What is't in flowring youth, or manly age?
The first is prone to vice, the last to rage.
Where is it then, in wisdom, learning, arts?
Sure if on earth, it must be in those parts:
Yet these the wisest man of men did find
But vanity, vexation of mind.
And he that knowes the most, doth still bemoan
He knows not all that here is to be known.
What is it then, to doe as Stoicks tell,
Nor laugh, nor weep, let things go ill or well.
Such Stoicks are but Stocks such teaching vain,
While man is man, he shall have ease or pain.
If not in honour beauty, age nor treasure,
Nor yet in learning wisdome youth nor pleasure,
Where shall I climb, sound, seek search or find
That Summum bonum which may stay my mind?
There is a path, no vultures eye hath seen,
Where Lion fierce, nor lions whelps have been,
Which leads unto that living Crystal Fount,
Who drinks thereof, the world doth naught account.
The depth & sea have said tis not in me,
With pearl and gold, it shall not valued be.
For Saphire, Onix, Topaz who would change:
Its hid from eyes of men, they count it strange.
Death and destruction the fame hath heard,
But where & what it is, from heaven's declar'd,
It brings to honour which shall ne're decay.
It stores with wealth which time can't wear away.
It yieldeth pleasures far beyond conceit,
And truly beautifies without deceit.
Nor strength, nor wisdome nor fresh youth shall fade,
Nor death shall see, but are immortal made.
This pearl of price, this tree of life, this spring
Who is possessed of, shall reign a King.
Nor change of state, nor cares shall ever see,
But wear his crown unto eternity.
This satiates the Soul, this stays the mind,
And all the rest, but Vanity we find.
A Suggestion
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

As I go and shop, sir!
If a car I stop, sir!
Where you chance to sit,
And you want to read, sir!
Never mind or heed, sir!
I'll not care a bit.
For it's now aesthetic
To be quite athletic.
That's our fad, you know.
I can hold the strap, sir!
And keep off your lap, sir!
As we jolting go.
If you read on blindly,
I shall take it kindly,
All the car's not mine.
But, if you sit and stare, sir!
At my eyes and hair, sir!
I must draw the line.
If the stare is meant, sir!
For a compliment, sir!
As we jog through town,
Allow me to suggest, sir!
A woman oft looks best, sir!
When she's sitting down.
Sonnet: A Dream, After Reading Dante's Episode Of Paulo And Francesca
by John Keats

As Hermes once took to his feathers light,
When lulled Argus, baffled, swooned and slept,
So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright
So played, so charmed, so conquered, so bereft
The dragon-world of all its hundred eyes;
And seeing it asleep, so fled away
Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies,
Nor unto Tempe, where Jove grieved a day;
But to that second circle of sad Hell,
Where in the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw
Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell
Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
Pale were the lips I kissed, and fair the form
I floated with, about that melancholy storm.
Song
by Edward Shanks

As I lay in the early sun,
Stretched in the grass, I thought upon
My true love, my dear love,
Who has my heart for ever,
Who is my happiness when we meet,
My sorrow when we sever.
She is all fire when I do burn,
Gentle when I moody turn,
Brave when I am sad and heavy
And all laughter when I am merry.
And so I lay and dreamed and dreamed,
And so the day wheeled on,
While all the birds with thoughts like mine
Were singing to the sun.
Sleepyhead
by Walter De La Mare

As I lay awake in the white moonlight
I heard a faint singing in the wood,
"Out of bed,
Sleepyhead,
Put your white foot, now;
Here are we
Beneath the tree
Singing round the root now."
I looked out of window, in the white moonlight,
The leaves were like snow in the wood - 
"Come away,
Child, and play
Light with the gnomies;
In a mound,
Green and round,
That's where their home is.
"Honey sweet,
Curds to eat,
Cream and frumenty,
Shells and beads,
Poppy seeds,
You shall have plenty."
But, as soon as I stooped in the dim moonlight
To put on my stocking and my shoe,
The sweet shrill singing echoed faintly away,
And the grey of the morning peeped through,
And instead of the gnomies there came a red robin
To sing of the buttercups and dew.
Through The Valley.
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

[AFTER JAMES THOMSON.]
As I came through the Valley of Despair,
As I came through the valley, on my sight,
More awful than the darkness of the night,
Shone glimpses of a Past that had been fair,
And memories of eyes that used to smile,
And wafts of perfume from a vanished isle,
As I came through the valley.
As I came through the valley I could see,
As I came through the valley, fair and far,
As drowning men look up and see a star,
The fading shore of my lost Used-to-be;
And like an arrow in my heart I heard
The last sad notes of Hope's expiring bird,
As I came through the valley.
As I came through the valley desolate,
As I came through the valley, like a beam
Of lurid lightning I beheld a gleam
Of Love's great eyes that now were full of hate.
Dear God! Dear God! I could bear all but that;
But I fell down soul-stricken, dead, thereat,
As I came through the valley.
The Sonnets XI - As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
by William Shakespeare

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st,
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st,
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest,
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase;
Without this folly, age, and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
Look, whom she best endow'd, she gave thee more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
The Long White Seam.
by Jean Ingelow

As I came round the harbor buoy,
The lights began to gleam,
No wave the land-locked water stirred,
The crags were white as cream;
And I marked my love by candle-light
Sewing her long white seam.
It's aye sewing ashore, my dear,
Watch and steer at sea,
It's reef and furl, and haul the line,
Set sail and think of thee.
I climbed to reach her cottage door;
O sweetly my love sings!
Like a shaft of light her voice breaks forth,
My soul to meet it springs
As the shining water leaped of old,
When stirred by angel wings.
Aye longing to list anew,
Awake and in my dream,
But never a song she sang like this,
Sewing her long white seam.
Fair fall the lights, the harbor lights,
That brought me in to thee,
And peace drop down on that low roof
For the sight that I did see,
And the voice, my dear, that rang so clear
All for the love of me.
For O, for O, with brows bent low
By the candle's flickering gleam,
Her wedding gown it was she wrought,
Sewing the long white seam.
Bonnie Peg.
by Robert Burns

I.
As I came in by our gate end,
As day was waxin' weary,
O wha came tripping down the street,
But Bonnie Peg my dearie!
II.
Her air sae sweet, and shape complete,
Wi' nae proportion wanting;
The Queen of Love did never move
Wi' motion mair enchanting.
III.
Wi' linked hands, we took the sands
A-down yon winding river;
And, oh! that hour and broomy bower,
Can I forget it ever?
At Castle Boterel
by Thomas Hardy

As I drive to the junction of lane and highway,
And the drizzle bedrenches the waggonette,
I look behind at the fading byway,
And see on its slope, now glistening wet,
Distinctly yet
Myself and a girlish form benighted
In dry March weather. We climb the road
Beside a chaise. We had just alighted
To ease the sturdy pony's load
When he sighed and slowed.
What we did as we climbed, and what we talked of
Matters not much, nor to what it led, -
Something that life will not be balked of
Without rude reason till hope is dead,
And feeling fled.
It filled but a minute. But was there ever
A time of such quality, since or before,
In that hill's story? To one mind never,
Though it has been climbed, foot-swift, foot-sore,
By thousands more.
Primaeval rocks form the road's steep border,
And much have they faced there, first and last,
Of the transitory in Earth's long order;
But what they record in colour and cast
Is that we two passed.
And to me, though Time's unflinching rigour,
In mindless rote, has ruled from sight
The substance now, one phantom figure
Remains on the slope, as when that night
Saw us alight.
I look and see it there, shrinking, shrinking,
I look back at it amid the rain
For the very last time; for my sand is sinking,
And I shall traverse old love's domain
Never again.
March 1913.
Summer's Evening. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)
by William Lisle Bowles

As homeward by the evening star
I pass along the plain,
I see the taper's light afar,
Shine through our cottage pane.
My brothers and my sisters dear,
The child upon the knee,
Spring when my hastening steps they hear,
And smile to welcome me.
But when the fire is growing dim,
And mother's labours cease,
I fold my hands, repeat my hymn,
And lay me down in peace.
The Gnomies
by Walter De La Mare

As I lay awake in the white moonlight,
I heard a sweet singing in the wood - 
'Out of bed,
Sleepyhead,
Put your white foot now,
Here are we,
'Neath the tree,
Singing round the root now!'
I looked out of window in the white moonlight,
The trees were like snow in the wood - 
'Come away
Child and play,
Light wi' the gnomies;
In a mound,
Green and round,
That's where their home is!
'Honey sweet,
Curds to eat,
Cream and frum'nty,
Shells and beads,
Poppy seeds,
You shall have plenty.'
But soon as I stooped in the dim moonlight
To put on my stocking and my shoe,
The sweet, sweet singing died sadly away,
And the light of the morning peep'd through:
Then instead of the gnomies there came a red robin
To sing of the buttercups and dew.
Regardant.
by John Milton Hay

As I lay at your feet that afternoon,
Little we spoke, - you sat and mused,
Humming a sweet old-fashioned tune,
And I worshipped you, with a sense confused
Of the good time gone and the bad on the way,
While my hungry eyes your face perused,
To catch and brand on my soul for aye
The subtle smile which had grown my doom.
Drinking sweet poison hushed I lay
Till the sunset shimmered athwart the room.
I rose to go.    You stood so fair
And dim in the dead day's tender gloom:
All at once, or ever I was aware,
Flashed from you on me a warm strong wave
Of passion and power; in the silence there
I fell on my knees, like a lover, or slave,
With my wild hands clasping your slender waist;
And my lips, with a sudden frenzy brave,
A madman's kiss on your girdle pressed,
And I felt your calm heart's quickening beat,
And your soft hands on me one instant rest.
And if God had loved me, how endlessly sweet
Had He let my heart in its rapture burst,
And throb its last at your firm small feet!
And when I was forth, I shuddered at first
At my imminent bliss.    As a soul in pain,
Treading his desolate path accursed,
Looks back and dreams through his tears' dim rain
That by Heaven's wide gate the angels smile,
Relenting, and beckon him back again,
And goes on, thrice damned by that devil's wile, -
So sometimes burns in my weary brain
The thought that you loved me all the while.
On A Henpecked Country Squire.
by Robert Burns

As father Adam first was fool'd,
A case that's still too common,
Here lies a man a woman rul'd,
The devil rul'd the woman.
Nursery Rhyme. CLXXXIX. Riddles.
by Unknown

[Gloves.]
As I was going o'er London Bridge,
I met a cart full of fingers and thumbs!
Nursery Rhyme. CCXXIX. Riddles.
by Unknown

As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives,
Every wife had seven sacks,
Every sack had seven cats,
Every cat had seven kits:
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,
How many were there going to St. Ives?
The Comforter
by Robert William Service

As I sat by my baby's bed
That's open to the sky,
There fluttered round and round my head
A radiant butterfly.
And as I wept - of hearts that ache
The saddest in the land - 
It left a lily for my sake,
And lighted on my hand.
I watched it, oh, so quietly,
And though it rose and flew,
As if it fain would comfort me
It came and came anew.
Now, where my darling lies at rest,
I do not dare to sigh,
For look! there gleams upon my breast
A snow-white butterfly.
As I Walk These Broad, Majestic Days
by Walt Whitman

AS I walk these broad, majestic days of peace,
(For the war, the struggle of blood finish'd, wherein, O terrific Ideal!
Against vast odds, having gloriously won,
Now thou stridest on--yet perhaps in time toward denser wars,
Perhaps to engage in time in still more dreadful contests, dangers,
Longer campaigns and crises, labors beyond all others;
--As I walk solitary, unattended,
Around me I hear that eclat of the world--politics, produce,
The announcements of recognized things--science,
The approved growth of cities, and the spread of inventions.
I see the ships, (they will last a few years,)
The vast factories, with their foremen and workmen,
And here the indorsement of all, and do not object to it.
But I too announce solid things;
Science, ships, politics, cities, factories, are not nothing--I watch them,
Like a grand procession, to music of distant bugles, pouring,
triumphantly moving--and grander heaving in sight;
They stand for realities--all is as it should be.
Then my realities; What else is so real as mine?
Libertad, and the divine average--Freedom to every slave on the face of the earth,
The rapt promises and lumin' of seers--the spiritual world--these centuries lasting songs,
And our visions, the visions of poets, the most solid announcements of any.
For we support all, fuse all,
After the rest is done and gone, we remain;
There is no final reliance but upon us;
Democracy rests finally upon us (I, my brethren, begin it,)
And our visions sweep through eternity.
Nursery Rhyme. CCCCXXXIX. Love And Matrimony.
by Unknown

As I was going up Pippen-hill,
Pippen-hill was dirty,
There I met a pretty miss,
And she dropt me a curtsey.
Little miss, pretty miss,
Blessings light upon you!
If I had half-a-crown a day,
I'd spend it all on you.
A Backward Look
by James Whitcomb Riley

As I sat smoking, alone, yesterday,
And lazily leaning back in my chair,
Enjoying myself in a general way -
Allowing my thoughts a holiday
From weariness, toil and care, -
My fancies - doubtless, for ventilation -
Left ajar the gates of my mind, -
And Memory, seeing the situation,
Slipped out in street of "Auld Lang Syne."
Wandering ever with tireless feet
Through scenes of silence, and jubilee
Of long-hushed voices; and faces sweet
Were thronging the shadowy side of the street
As far as the eye could see;
Dreaming again, in anticipation,
The same old dreams of our boyhood's days
That never come true, from the vague sensation
Of walking asleep in the world's strange ways.
Away to the house where I was born!
And there was the selfsame clock that ticked
From the close of dusk to the burst of morn,
When life-warm hands plucked the golden corn
And helped when the apples were picked.
And the "chany-dog" on the mantel-shelf,
With the gilded collar and yellow eyes,
Looked just as at first, when I hugged myself
Sound asleep with the dear surprise.
And down to the swing in the locust tree,
Where the grass was worn from the trampled ground
And where "Eck" Skinner, "Old" Carr, and three
Or four such other boys used to be
Doin' "sky-scrapers," or "whirlin' round:"
And again Bob climbed for the bluebird's nest,
And again "had shows" in the buggy-shed
Of Guymon's barn, where still, unguessed,
The old ghosts romp through the best days dead!
And again I gazed from the old school-room
With a wistful look of a long June day,
When on my cheek was the hectic bloom
Caught of Mischief, as I presume -
He had such a "partial" way,
It seemed, toward me. - And again I thought
Of a probable likelihood to be
Kept in after school - for a girl was caught
Catching a note from me.
And down through the woods to the swimming-hole -
Where the big, white, hollow, old sycamore grows, -
And we never cared when the water was cold.
And always "clucked" the boy that told
On the fellow that tied the clothes. -
When life went so like a dreamy rhyme
That it seems to me now that then
The world was having a jollier time
Than it ever will have again.
A Song Of The Greenaway Child
by Henry Austin Dobson

As I went a-walking on Lavender Hill,
O, I met a Darling in frock and frill;
And she looked at me shyly, with eyes of blue,
"Are you going a-walking? Then take me too!"
So we strolled to the field where the cowslips grow,
And we played--and we played, for an hour or so;
Then we climbed to the top of the old park wall,
And the Darling she threaded a cowslip ball.
Then we played again, till I said--"My Dear,
This pain in my side, it has grown severe;
I ought to have mentioned I'm past three-score,
And I fear that I scarcely can play any more!"
But the Darling she answered,-"O no! O no!
You must play--you must play.--I sha'n't let you go!"
--And I woke with a start and a sigh of despair,
And I found myself safe in my Grandfather's-chair!
Riddles Of Merlin
by Alfred Noyes

As I was walking
Alone by the sea,
"What is that whisper?"
Said Merlin to me.
"Only," I answered,
"The sigh of the wave"--
"Oh, no," replied Merlin,
"'Tis the grass on your grave."
As I lay dreaming
In churchyard ground
"Listen," said Merlin,
"What is that sound?"
"The green grass is growing,"
I answered; but he
Chuckled, "Oh, no!
'Tis the sound of the sea."
As I went homeward
At dusk by the shore,
"What is that crimson?"
Said Merlin once more.
"Only the sun," I said.
"Sinking to rest"--
"Sunset for East," he said,
"Sunrise for West."
Nursery Rhyme. CXCIII. Riddles.
by Unknown

[A swarm of bees.]
As I was going o'er Tipple Tine,
I met a flock of bonny swine;
Some green-lapp'd,
Some green-back'd;
They were the very bonniest swine
That e'er went over Tipple Tine.
Nursery Rhyme. XVIII. Historical
by Unknown

[The following is partly quoted in an old song in a MS. at Oxford, Ashmole, No. 36, fol. 113.]
As I was going by Charing Cross,
I saw a black man upon a black horse;
They told me it was King Charles the First;
Oh dear! my heart was ready to burst!
As I Watche'd The Ploughman Ploughing
by Walt Whitman

As I watch'd the ploughman ploughing,
Or the sower sowing in the fields--or the harvester harvesting,
I saw there too, O life and death, your analogies:
(Life, life is the tillage, and Death is the harvest according.)