DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
The Circus.
by Edwin C. Ranck

O, the circus parade! O, the circus parade!
It lays all the politics back in the shade,
And the merchants forget that they've got any trade,
While many remember they've never been paid
As they rushed out to look at the circus parade;
And preachers who used to be terribly staid
Yell just like boys at the circus parade.
Every one's there, both the mistress and maid,
All looking on at the circus parade.
And out at the grounds, when you've seen the parade,
How delicious it is to drink pink lemonade;
And look at the elephant twirling his trunk,
And laugh at the capers cut by the monk;
Watch the old clown who is acting a dunce,
And try hard to see three rings going at once;
Gaze at the ringmaster cracking his whip,
And watch the tight-rope artist skip.
I saw that circus, Yes Sirree!
Saw about enough for three.
At Rome
by Arthur Hugh Clough

O, richly soiled and richly sunned,
Exuberant, fervid, and fecund!
Is this the fixed condition
On which may Northern pilgrim come,
To imbibe thine ether-air, and sum
Thy store of old tradition?
Must we be chill, if clean, and stand
Foot-deep in dirt on classic land?
So is it: in all ages so,
And in all places man can know,
From homely roots unseen below
The stem in forest, field, and bower,
Derives the emanative power
That crowns it with the ethereal flower,
From mixtures foetid, foul, and sour
Draws juices that those petals fill.
Ah Nature, if indeed thy will
Thou own'st it, it shall not be ill!
And truly here, in this quick clime,
Where, scarcely bound by space or time,
The elements in half a day
Toss off with exquisitest play
What our cold seasons toil and grieve,
And never quite at last achieve;
Where processes, with pain, and fear,
Disgust, and horror wrought, appear
The quick mutations of a dance,
Wherein retiring but to advance,
Life, in brief interpause of death,
One moment sitting taking breath,
Forth comes again as glad as e'er,
In some new figure full as fair,
Where what has scarcely ceased to be,
Instinct with newer birth we see'
What dies, already, look you, lives;
In such a clime, who thinks, forgives;
Who sees, will understand; who knows,
In calm of knowledge find repose,
And thoughtful as of glory gone,
So too of more to come anon,
Of permanent existence sure,
Brief intermediate breaks endure.
O Nature, if indeed thy will,
Thou ownest it, it is not ill!
And e'en as oft on heathy hill,
On moorland black, and ferny fells,
Beside thy brooks and in thy dells,
Was welcomed erst the kindly stain
Of thy true earth, e'en so again
With resignation fair, and meet
The dirt and refuse of thy street,
My philosophic foot shall greet,
So leave but perfect to my eye
Thy columns, set against thy sky!
Scatter The Silver Ash Like Snow
by John Frederick Freeman

O, what insect is it
That burrows in the heart and frets
The heart's near nerves,
Leaving its unclean
Stigmata in the mind serene,
Making the proud how mean?
It is not common hate,
Anger has not such deadly cunning
To annul, to chill.
Wild anger is not
So cunning even while so hot;
Hate is too soon forgot.
There is no sword so sharp
With lightnings as the wanton tongue;
Nothing that burns like words--
Bubbling flames that spread
In the now unspiritual head,
By sleepless fevers fed.
O evil words that are
The knives of desolating thought!
And though words be still
The hot eyes yet dart
Burning deaths from this mad heart
Into that torn heart.
O Love, forget, forget,
Put by that glittering edge, put by;
Slay the insect with light;
Smother that smoky glow,
Scatter the silver ash like snow
When thy spring airs blow!
Tibbie Dunbar.
by Robert Burns

Tune - "Johnny M'Gill."
I.
O, Wilt thou go wi' me,
Sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
O, wilt thou go wi' me,
Sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
Wilt thou ride on a horse,
Or be drawn in a car,
Or walk by my side,
O, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
II.
I care na thy daddie,
His lands and his money,
I care na thy kindred,
Sae high and sae lordly:
But say thou wilt hae me
For better for waur,
And come in thy coatie,
Sweet Tibbie Dunbar!
The Prince Of Life
by William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham)

O, Prince of Life, Thy Life hath tuned
All life to sweeter, loftier grace!
Life's common rounds have wider bounds
Since Thou hast trod life's common ways.
O, Heart of Love! Thy Tenderness
Still runs through life's remotest vein;
And lust and greed and soulless creed
Shall never rule the world again.
O Life of Love!--The Good Intent
Of God to man made evident,--
All down the years, despite men's fears,
Thy Power is still omnipotent.
O Life! O Love! O Living Word!--
Rent Vail, revealing God to man,--
Help, Lord! Lest I should crucify,
By thought or deed, Thy Love again.
O, It Was Out By Donnycarney
by James Joyce

O, it was out by Donnycarney
When the bat flew from tree to tree
My love and I did walk together;
And sweet were the words she said to me.
Along with us the summer wind
Went murmuring, O, happily!
But softer than the breath of summer
Was the kiss she gave to me.
O, Have You Blessed, Behind The Stars
by William Ernest Henley

O, have you blessed, behind the stars,
The blue sheen in the skies,
When June the roses round her calls? -
Then do you know the light that falls
From her beloved eyes.
And have you felt the sense of peace
That morning meadows give? -
Then do you know the spirit of grace,
The angel abiding in her face,
Who makes it good to live.
She shines before me, hope and dream,
So fair, so still, so wise,
That, winning her, I seem to win
Out of the dust and drive and din
A nook of Paradise.
1877
A Reverie.
by Alfred Castner King

O, tomb of the past
Where buried hopes lie,
In my visions I see
Thy phantoms pass by!
A form, long departed,
Before me appears;
A sweet voice, long silent,
Again greets my ears.
Fond memory dwells
On the things that have been;
And my eyes calmly gaze
On a long vanished scene;
A scene such as memory
Stores deep in the breast,
Which only appears
In a season of rest.
Once more we wander,
Her fair hand in mine;
Once more her promise,
"I'll ever be thine";
Once more the parting,
The shroud, and the pall,
The sods' hollow thump
As they coffinward fall.
The reverie ends--
All the fancies have flown;
And my sad, lonely heart,
Now seems doubly alone;
As the Ivy, whose tendrils
Reach longingly out,
Yet finds not an oak
To entwine them about.
November Blue
by Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell

The colour of the electric lights has a strange effect in giving a complementary tint to the air in the early evening.--ESSAY ON LONDON.
O, Heavenly colour! London town
Has blurred it from her skies;
And hooded in an earthly brown,
Unheaven'd the city lies.
No longer standard-like this hue
Above the broad road flies;
Nor does the narrow street the blue
Wear, slender pennon-wise.
But when the gold and silver lamps
Colour the London dew,
And, misted by the winter damps,
The shops shine bright anew--
Blue comes to earth, it walks the street,
It dyes the wide air through;
A mimic sky about their feet,
The throng go crowned with blue.
The Maid Of Toro
by Walter Scott (Sir)

O, low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,
And weak were the whispers that waved the dark wood,
All as a fair maiden, bewilder'd in sorrow,
Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to the flood.
"O, saints! from the mansions of bliss lowly bending;
Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending,
My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die!"
All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle,
With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail,
Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread rattle,
And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the gale.
Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary;
Slowly approaching a warrior was seen;
Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary,
Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien.
"O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying!
O, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low!
Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying,
Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow,
And scarce could she hear them, benumb'd with despair:
And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro,
For ever he set to the Brave and the Fair.
A Prayer
by George William Russell

O, holy Spirit of the Hazel, hearken now,
Though shining suns and silver moons burn on the bough,
And though the fruit of stars by many myriads gleam,
Yet in the undergrowth below, still in thy dream,
Lighting the labyrinthine maze and monstrous gloom
Are many gem-winged flowers with gay and delicate bloom;
And in the shade, hearken, O Dreamer of the Tree,
One wild rose blossom of thy spirit breathed on me
With lovely and still light, a little sister flower
To those that whitely on the tall moon branches tower,
Lord of the Hazel now, oh hearken while I pray,
This wild rose blossom of thy spirit fades away.
O, Wat Ye Wha's In Yon Town.
by Robert Burns

Tune - "I'll ay ca' in by yon town."
Chorus.
O, wat ye wha's in yon town,
Ye see the e'enin sun upon?
The fairest dame's in yon town,
That e'enin sun is shining on.
I.
Now haply down yon gay green shaw,
She wanders by yon spreading tree;
How blest ye flow'rs that round her blaw,
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e!
II.
How blest ye birds that round her sing,
And welcome in the blooming year!
And doubly welcome be the spring,
The season to my Lucy dear.
III.
The sun blinks blithe on yon town,
And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr;
But my delight in yon town,
And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair.
IV.
Without my love, not a' the charms
O' Paradise could yield me joy;
But gie me Lucy in my arms,
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky!
V.
My cave wad be a lover's bower,
Tho' raging winter rent the air;
And she a lovely little flower,
That I wad tent and shelter there.
VI.
O sweet is she in yon town,
Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon;
A fairer than's in you town
His setting beam ne'er shone upon.
VII.
If angry fate is sworn my foe,
And suffering I am doom'd to bear;
I careless quit aught else below,
But spare me, spare me, Lucy dear!
VIII.
For while life's dearest blood is warm,
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart,
And she, as fairest is her form!
She has the truest, kindest heart!
O, wat ye wha's in yon town,
Ye see the e'enin sun upon?
The fairest dame's in yon town
That e'enin sun is shining on.
Retirement
by Anne Bronte

O, let me be alone a while,
No human form is nigh.
And may I sing and muse aloud,
No mortal ear is by.
Away! ye dreams of earthly bliss,
Ye earthly cares begone:
Depart! ye restless wandering thoughts,
And let me be alone!
One hour, my spirit, stretch thy wings,
And quit this joyless sod,
Bask in the sunshine of the sky,
And be alone with God!
O, Were I Loved As I Desire To Be!
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

O, were I loved as I desire to be!
What is there in the great sphere of the earth,
Or range of evil between death and birth,
That I should fear, - if I were loved by thee!
All the inner, all the outer world of pain,
Clear love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert mine;
As I have heard that somewhere in the main
Fresh-water springs come up through bitter brine.
'I were joy, not fear, clasped hand in hand with thee,
To wait for death - mute - careless of all ills,
Apart upon a mountain, though the surge
Of some new deluge from a thousand hills
Flung leagues of roaring foam into the gorge
Below us, as far on as eye could see.
November Blue
by Alice Christiana Gertrude Thompson Meynell

The colour of the electric lights has a strange effect in giving a complementary tint to the air in the early evening. - ESSAY ON LONDON.
O, Heavenly colour! London town
Has blurred it from her skies;
And hooded in an earthly brown,
Unheaven'd the city lies.
No longer standard-like this hue
Above the broad road flies;
Nor does the narrow street the blue
Wear, slender pennon-wise.
But when the gold and silver lamps
Colour the London dew,
And, misted by the winter damps,
The shops shine bright anew -
Blue comes to earth, it walks the street,
It dyes the wide air through;
A mimic sky about their feet,
The throng go crowned with blue.
O Whar Did Ye Get
by Robert Burns

Tune - "Bonnie Dundee."
I.
O, whar did ye get that hauver meal bannock?
O silly blind body, O dinna ye see?
I gat it frae a young brisk sodger laddie,
Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee.
O gin I saw the laddie that gae me't!
Aft has he doudl'd me up on his knee;
May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie,
And send him safe hame to his babie and me!
II.
My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie,
My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e brie!
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie,
Thou's ay the dearer and dearer to me!
But I'll big a bower on yon bonnie banks,
Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear;
And I'll cleed thee in the tartan sae fine,
And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear.
Sonnets: Idea XXV
by Michael Drayton

O, why should nature niggardly restrain
That foreign nations relish not our tongue?
Else should my lines glide on the waves of Rhine,
And crown the Pyren's with my living song.
But bounded thus, to Scotland get you forth!
Thence take you wing unto the Orcades!
There let my verse get glory in the north,
Making my sighs to thaw the frozen seas.
And let the bards within that Irish isle,
To whom my Muse with fiery wings shall pass,
Call back the stiff-necked rebels from exile,
And mollify the slaughtering gallowglass;
And when my flowing numbers they rehearse,
Let wolves and bears be charm'd with my verse.
Pet's Punishment
by Joseph Ashby-Sterry

O, if my love offended me,
And we had words together,
To show her I would master be,
I'd whip her with a feather!
If then she, like a naughty girl,
Would tyranny declare it,
I'd give my pet a cross of pearl,
And make her always bear it.
If still she tried to sulk and sigh,
And threw away my posies,
I'd catch my darling on the sly,
And smother her with roses.
But should she clench her dimpled fists,
Or contradict her betters,
I'd manacle her tiny wrists
With dainty jewelled fetters.
And if she dared her lips to pout,
Like many pert young misses,
I'd wind my arm her waist about,
And punish her, with kisses!
Hogmanay
by Violet Jacob

(To A Pipe Tune)
O, it's fine when the New and the Auld Year meet,
An' the lads gang roarin' i' the lichtit street,
An' there's me and there's Alick an' the miller's loon,
An' Geordie that's the piper oot o' Forfar toon.
Geordie Faa! Geordie Faa!
Up wi' the chanter, lad, an' gie's a blaw!
For we'll step to the tune while we've feet in till oor shune,
Tho' the bailies an' the provost be to sort us a'!
We've three bonnie bottles, but the third ane's toom,
Gin' the road ran whisky, it's mysel' wad soom!
But we'll stan' while we can, an' be dancin' while we may,
For there's twa we hae to finish, an' it's Hogmanay.
Geordie Faa! Geordie Faa!
There's an auld carle glow'rin' oot ahint yon wa',
But we'll sune gar him loup to the pipin' till he coup,
For we'll gi'e him just a drappie, an' he'll no say na!
My heid's dementit an' my feet's the same,
When they'll no wark thegither it's a lang road hame;
An' we've twa mile to traivel or it's mair like three,
But I've got a grip o' Alick, an' ye'd best grip me.
Geordie Faa! Geordie Faa!
The morn's near brakin' an' we'll need awa',
Gin ye're aye blawin' strang, then we'll maybe get alang,
An' the deevil tak' the laddie that's the first to fa'!
O, Gather Me The Rose
by William Ernest Henley

O, gather me the rose, the rose,
While yet in flower we find it,
For summer smiles, but summer goes,
And winter waits behind it!
For with the dream foregone, foregone,
The deed forborne for ever,
The worm, regret, will canker on,
And Time will turn him never.
So well it were to love, my love,
And cheat of any laughter
The fate beneath us and above,
The dark before and after.
The myrtle and the rose, the rose,
The sunshine and the swallow,
The dream that comes, the wish that goes,
The memories that follow!
1874
Ode On Science
by Jonathan Swift

O, heavenly born! in deepest dells
If fairest science ever dwells
Beneath the mossy cave;
Indulge the verdure of the woods,
With azure beauty gild the floods,
And flowery carpets lave.
For, Melancholy ever reigns
Delighted in the sylvan scenes
With scientific light;
While Dian, huntress of the vales,
Seeks lulling sounds and fanning gales,
Though wrapt from mortal sight.
Yet, goddess, yet the way explore
With magic rites and heathen lore
Obstructed and depress'd;
Till Wisdom give the sacred Nine,
Untaught, not uninspired, to shine,
By Reason's power redress'd.
When Solon and Lycurgus taught
To moralize the human thought
Of mad opinion's maze,
To erring zeal they gave new laws,
Thy charms, O Liberty, the cause
That blends congenial rays.
Bid bright Astr'a gild the morn,
Or bid a hundred suns be born,
To hecatomb the year;
Without thy aid, in vain the poles,
In vain the zodiac system rolls,
In vain the lunar sphere.
Come, fairest princess of the throng,
Bring sweet philosophy along,
In metaphysic dreams;
While raptured bards no more behold
A vernal age of purer gold,
In Heliconian streams.
Drive Thraldom with malignant hand,
To curse some other destined land,
By Folly led astray:
I'rne bear on azure wing;
Energic let her soar, and sing
Thy universal sway.
So when Amphion[1] bade the lyre
To more majestic sound aspire,
Behold the madding throng,
In wonder and oblivion drown'd,
To sculpture turn'd by magic sound
And petrifying song.
The Answer
by John Frederick Freeman

O, my feet have worn a track
Deep and old in going back.
Thought released turns to its home
As bees through tangling thickets come.
One way of thought leads to the vast
Desert of the mind, and there is lost,
But backward leads to a dancing light
And myself there, stiff with delight.
O, well my thought has trodden a way
From this brief day to that long day.
O Were I On Parnassus Hill.
by Robert Burns

Tune - "My love is lost to me."
I.
O, were I on Parnassus' hill!
Or had of Helicon my fill;
That I might catch poetic skill,
To sing how dear I love thee.
But Nith maun be my Muse's well;
My Muse maun be thy bonnie sel':
On Corsincon I'll glow'r and spell,
And write how dear I love thee.
II.
Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay!
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day
I coudna sing, I coudna say,
How much, how dear, I love thee.
I see thee dancing o'er the green,
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean,
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een,
By heaven and earth I love thee!
III.
By night, by day, a-field, at hame,
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame;
And aye I muse and sing thy name,
I only live to love thee.
Tho' I were doom'd to wander on
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun,
Till my last weary sand was run;
Till then, and then I love thee.
O, Gentle Shade Of Quiet Woods.
by Freeman Edwin Miller

O, gentle shade of quiet woods,
Where nature dwells in leafy halls,
I love the sacred voice that falls
In music o'er thy solitudes!
Within thine arms the weary heart
Is hidden from the toils of men,
And pleasure makes ambition start
Into a nobler life again.
Among the fragrant shadows throng
With all the riches of their truth,
Glad echoes from the days of youth
And mingle into laughing song;
While angel fingers touch the keys
That slumber in the silent breast,
Till mem'ry wakes her lullabies
And childhood fancies rock to rest.
Again the hours of early joy
Upon the aged years intrude,
And dance amid the summer wood
The golden dreamings of the boy;
Again the songs of wonder thrill
The days of life with gladness wild,
And lofty visions fondly fill
The longing fancies of the child.
Enchanted choirs of baby years,
Sweet dirges from the cradle's keys,
The glories of your harmonies
Impel my secret soul to tears!
The roses of my fancies fade
Into the dust of wicked strife,
And all the promise boyhood made
Has proved the desert of my life.
O, fragrant woods of happy times,
Fair children of the glowing days,
How sweet the music of your lays
Is mingled into fairy chimes!
Ye lisp again the songs of yore,
The stories of my infant years,
And throw a sweeter cadence o'er
My hoary sorrows and my tears!
Sonnet XXVIII.
by Anna Seward

O, GENIUS! does thy Sun-resembling beam
To the internal eyes of Man display
In clearer prospect, the momentous way
That leads to peace? Do they not rather seem
Dazzled by lustres in continual stream,
Till night they find in such excessive day?
Art thou not prone, with too intense a ray,
To gild the hope improbable, the dream
Of fancied good? - or bid the sigh upbraid
Imaginary evils, and involve
All real sorrow in a darker shade?
To fond credulity, to rash resolve
Dost thou not prompt, till reason's sacred aid
And fair discretion in thy fires dissolve?
The Oak Of Guernica Supposed Address To The Same
by William Wordsworth

Oak of Guernica! Tree of holier power
Than that which in Dodona did enshrine
(So faith too fondly deemed) a voice divine
Heard from the depths of its aerial bower
How canst thou flourish at this blighting hour?
What hope, what joy can sunshine bring to thee,
Or the soft breezes from the Atlantic sea,
The dews of morn, or April's tender shower?
Stroke merciful and welcome would that be
Which should extend thy branches on the ground,
If never more within their shady round
Those lofty-minded Lawgivers shall meet,
Peasant and lord, in their appointed seat,
Guardians of Biscay's ancient liberty.
The Kaiser's Bhoys
by Thomas O'Hagan

O, the Kaiser's bhoys are marching, "nach Paris" they are going,
But they've sthopped to rest a minit at the Marne and at the Meuse;
And the Gordons and the Ministers are thryin' to entertain them,
For they've every kind of "record" that the Teutons want to choose;
They have battle cries that sounded for centuries in the Highlands,
They have war cries fierce and stirring as the breath of Munster gales;
They are shoutin' to the heavens, and they're shoutin' to the Kaiser,
"Faugh-a-ballagh!" sons of Odin, or we'll tie you up like bales.
O, the Kaiser's bhoys are dramin' of a naval base at Calais,
But they wakin' ivery mornin' full of sorrow and of gloom;
For the little Belgian sojers cut the dykes and flood their trenches,
And they find their dugouts only jist a bathtub or a tomb.
But they're makin' progress backward, "nach Berlin" they are going,
With their "Landsturms" and their "Land-wehrs," keepin' sthep in dim grey line;
And they'll know far more of Britain and her brood of lions snarlin',
When they find themselves "su Hause" jist beyant
"Die Wacht am Rhein."
For John E. Redmond, M.P.
O, Time And Change
by William Ernest Henley

I. M. - R. L. S.    (1850-1894)
O, Time and Change, they range and range
From sunshine round to thunder! -
They glance and go as the great winds blow,
And the best of our dreams drive under:
For Time and Change estrange, estrange -
And, now they have looked and seen us,
O, we that were dear, we are all-too near
With the thick of the world between us.
O, Death and Time, they chime and chime
Like bells at sunset falling! -
They end the song, they right the wrong,
They set the old echoes calling:
For Death and Time bring on the prime
Of God's own chosen weather,
And we lie in the peace of the Great Release
As once in the grass together.
February 1891