DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
Address To Kilchurn Castle, Upon Loch Awe
by William Wordsworth

Child of loud-throated War! the mountain Stream
Roars in thy hearing; but thy hour of rest
Is come, and thou art silent in thy age;
Save when the wind sweeps by and sounds are caught
Ambiguous, neither wholly thine nor theirs.
Oh! there is life that breathes not; Powers there are
That touch each other to the quick in modes
Which the gross world no sense hath to perceive,
No soul to dream of. What art Thou, from care
Cast off'abandoned by thy rugged Sire,
Nor by soft Peace adopted; though, in place
And in dimension, such that thou might'st seem
But a mere footstool to yon sovereign Lord,
Huge Cruachan, (a thing that meaner hills
Might crush, nor know that it had suffered harm
Yet he, not loth, in favour of thy claims
To reverence, suspends his own; submitting
All that the God of Nature hath conferred,
All that he holds in common with the stars,
To the memorial majesty of Time
Impersonated in thy calm decay!
Take, then, thy seat, Vicegerent unreproved!
Now, while a farewell gleam of evening light
Is fondly lingering on thy shattered front,
Do thou, in turn, be paramount; and rule
Over the pomp and beauty of a scene
Whose mountains, torrents, lake, and woods, unite
To pay thee homage; and with these are joined,
In willing admiration and respect,
Two Hearts, which in thy presence might be called
Youthful as Spring.'Shade of departed Power,
Skeleton of unfleshed humanity,
The chronicle were welcome that should call
Into the compass of distinct regard
The toils and struggles of thy infant years!
Yon foaming flood seems motionless as ice;
Its dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,
Frozen by distance; so, majestic Pile,
To the perception of this Age, appear
Thy fierce beginnings, softened and subdued
And quieted in character'the strife,
The pride, the fury uncontrollable,
Lost on the aerial heights of the Crusades!
Recipe
by Thomas William Hodgson Crosland

CHIDDEN still murmurs,
SLAPPED and RAPPED complain,
HURT, with a thousand tongues,
Whines out his pain.
This is the learning
Unto which we come:
PROPERLY WALLOPED
Is for ever dumb.
Chickadee
by Hanford Lennox Gordon

Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee!
That was the song that he sang to me Sang
from his perch in the willow tree 
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.
My little brown bird,
The song that I heard
Was a happier song than the minstrels sing 
A paean of joy and a carol of spring;
And my heart leaped throbbing and sang with thee
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.
My birdie looked wise
With his little black eyes,
As he peeked and peered from his perch at me
With a throbbing throat and a flutter of glee,
As if he would say 
Sing trouble away,
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.
Only one note
From his silver throat;
Only one word
From my wise little bird;
But a sweeter note or a wiser word
From the tongue of mortal I never have heard,
Than my little philosopher sang to me
From his bending perch in the willow tree 
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.
Come foul or fair,
Come trouble and care 
No never a sigh
Or a thought of despair!
For my little bird sings in my heart to me,
As he sang from his perch in the willow tree 
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee dee:
Chickadee-dee, chickadee-dee;
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.
Salutation.
by Robert Herrick

Christ, I have read, did to His chaplains say,
Sending them forth, Salute no man by th' way:
Not that He taught His ministers to be
Unsmooth or sour to all civility,
But to instruct them to avoid all snares
Of tardidation in the Lord's affairs.
Manners are good; but till His errand ends,
Salute we must nor strangers, kin, or friends.
The Oxen
by Thomas Hardy

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
"Now they are all on their knees,"
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.
We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.
So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
"Come; see the oxen kneel
"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,"
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.
1915.
Look Up
by Pamela S. Vining, (J. C. Yule)

Christian, lookup? thy feet may slide;
This is a slippery way!
Yet One is walking by thy side
Whose arm should be thy stay,
Thou canst not see that blessed form,
Nor view that loving smile
With eager eyes thus earthward bent - 
Christian, look up a while!
Christian, look up! - what seest thou here
To court thy anxious eyes?
Earth is beneath thee, lone and drear,
Above, thy native skies!
Beneath, the wreck of faded bloom,
The shadow, and the clod,
The broken reed, the open tomb, - 
Above thee, is THY GOD!
Look up! thy head too long has been
Bowed darkly toward the earth,
Thou son of a most Royal Sire,
Creature of kingly birth!
What! dragging like a very slave
Earth's heavy galling chain, - 
And struggling onward to the grave
In weariness and pain?
What wouldst thou with this world? - thy home,
Thy country is not here,
'Mid faded flowers, and perished bloom,
And shadows dense and drear! - 
Thy home is where the tree of Life
Waves high its fruitage blest,
'Mid bowers with fadeless beauties rife, - 
Look up, and claim thy rest!
Christmas Eve
by Madison Julius Cawein

Christmas Eve is here at last.
And I'm happy as can be.
Going to have a Christmas-tree,
And more toys than any past
Christmas saw or ever had,
So my mother says, for me.
And I'm glad, am just as glad
As a little boy can be.
Christmas Eve is here at last.
Christmas Eve is here at last.
And I'm going to-bed to-night
Early; when it's candlelight:
Christmas Day can't come too fast.
I'll not go to-sleep, I think,
But be wide awake when, right
Here, Old Santa, with a wink,
Down the chimney comes to-night.
Christmas Eve is here at last.
Christmas Eve is here at last.
And the dining-room and hall,
Parlor too, I guess, and wall,
All are hung with holly; massed
With old mistletoe. A smell
Sniffs of cedar over all.
Every minute goes the bell;
Parcels pack and pile the hall.
Christmas Eve is here at last.
Christmas Eve is here at last.
And it has begun to snow.
Oh! I'm so excited! oh!
Windows rattle and the blast
Shakes and mutters at the door.
But that's not the wind I know;
I have heard him there before
Santa Claus all furred with snow.
Christmas Eve is here at last.
Christmas Eve is here at last.
How the folks go hurrying by;
I can see the snowflakes fly
By my window; whirling past
Everywhere; and our front yard
'S covered white: and my! oh my!
Hear the bells that jingle hard!
Must be Santa sleighing by.
Christmas Eve is here at last.
Christmas Eve is here at last.
Tell you what I'm going to do,
Hang my stockings up yes, two!
My two stockings; for, I asked
Mother and she said I might.
Then I'll watch, and cry, "That you,
Santa?" when he comes to-night
"Hello, Santa! Howdy do!
Christmas Eve is here at last."
Christ's Sadness.
by Robert Herrick

Christ was not sad, i' th' garden, for His own
Passion, but for His sheep's dispersion.
To His Mistress.
by Robert Herrick

Choose me your valentine,
Next let us marry -
Love to the death will pine
If we long tarry.
Promise, and keep your vows,
Or vow ye never -
Love's doctrine disallows
Troth-breakers ever.
You have broke promise twice,
Dear, to undo me,
If you prove faithless thrice
None then will woo ye.
Passion Flower
by Victor James Daley

Choose who will the wiser part,
I have held her heart to heart;
And have felt her heart-strings stirred,
And her soul's still singing heard
For one golden-haloed hour
Of Love's life the passion-flower.
So the world may roll or rest,
I have tasted of its best;
And shall laugh while I have breath
At thy dart and thee, O Death!
On The Massacre Of The Christians In Bulgaria
by Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde

Christ, dost Thou live indeed? or are Thy bones
Still straitened in their rock-hewn sepulchre?
And was Thy Rising only dreamed by her
Whose love of Thee for all her sin atones?
For here the air is horrid with men's groans,
The priests who call upon Thy name are slain,
Dost Thou not hear the bitter wail of pain
From those whose children lie upon the stones?
Come down, O Son of God! incestuous gloom
Curtains the land, and through the starless night
Over Thy Cross a Crescent moon I see!
If Thou in very truth didst burst the tomb
Come down, O Son of Man! and show Thy might
Lest Mahomet be crowned instead of Thee!
Christmas Greetings
by John Kendall (Dum-Dum)

Christmas comes but once a year.
Though by nature snappy,
Let us, as we may, appear
Merry, friend, and happy!
Buckle to; and when you meet your
Thunderstricken fellow-creature,
Show the broad, indulgent smile
Of th' ingenuous crocodile!
Look as if you'd backed a winner!
Laugh, you miserable sinner!
Brother, Christmas Day has come.
Can't you seek for inspi-
ration in the turkey, plum-
pudding, beef, and mince-pie?
Brave it out, and tho' you sit on
Tenterhooks, remain a Briton;
You can only do your best;
Boxing Day's a day of rest!
Throw aside your small digestive
Eccentricities. Be festive!
Christmas Day is on the wing.
Are you feeling wroth with
Any one for anything?
Beg his pardon forthwith!
Though the right is all on your side,
Say it isn't; say 'Of course I'd
No intention - very rude - 
Shocking taste - but misconstrued' - 
Then (while I admit it's horri-
fying) tell the man you're sorry!
Christmas Day will soon have flown.
If, despite persuasion,
You resolve to be alone
On the glad occasion,
Better (do as I have done!)
Vanish with a scatter-gun;
If you have to see it through,
(Better do what I shall do!)
Dining quietly at the Club'll
Save us from a world of trouble!
Sonnet XII.
by Anna Seward

Chill'd by unkind Honora's alter'd eye,
"Why droops my heart with fruitless woes forlorn,"
Thankless for much of good? - what thousands, born
To ceaseless toil beneath this wintry sky,
Or to brave deathful Oceans surging high,
Or fell Disease's fever'd rage to mourn,
How blest to them wou'd seem my destiny!
How dear the comforts my rash sorrows scorn! - 
Affection is repaid by causeless hate!
A plighted love is chang'd to cold disdain!
Yet suffer not thy wrongs to shroud thy fate,
But turn, my Soul, to blessings which remain;
And let this truth the wise resolve create,
THE HEART ESTRANGED NO ANGUISH CAN REGAIN.
July 1773.
The Dauntless Three
by Banjo Paterson (Andrew Barton)

Chris Watson, of the Parliament,
By his Caucus Gods he swore
That the great Labor Party
Should suffer wrong no more.
By his Caucus Gods he swore it,
And named a trysting day,
And bade his Socialists ride forth,
East and west and south and north,
To summon his array.
East and west and south and north
The Socialists ride fast,
And every town in New South Wales
Has heard their trumpet's blast.
Shame to the false elector
Who lingers in his hole,
While Watson and his myrmidons
Are riding to the poll.
Then up spake brave Horatius Gould,
And a Liberal proud was he,
"Now, who will stand on either hand
And face the foe with me?"
Then out spake bold Herminius Millen,
And Walker out spake he,
"We will abide on either side
And win a seat with thee."
"'Tis well", quoth brave Horatuis,
"As thou sayest, so let it be."
And straight against the proletaire
Forth went the dauntless three.
(Issue impending)
The Surprise.
by Thomas Moore

Chloris, I swear, by all I ever swore,
That from this hour I shall not love thee more.--
"What! love no more? Oh! why this altered vow?"
Because I can not love thee more
--than now!
To My Mother
by William Ernest Henley

Chiming a dream by the way
With ocean's rapture and roar,
I met a maiden to-day
Walking alone on the shore:
Walking in maiden wise,
Modest and kind and fair,
The freshness of spring in her eyes
And the fulness of spring in her hair.
Cloud-shadow and scudding sun-burst
Were swift on the floor of the sea,
And a mad wind was romping its worst,
But what was their magic to me?
Or the charm of the midsummer skies?
I only saw she was there,
A dream of the sea in her eyes
And the kiss of the sea in her hair.
I watched her vanish in space;
She came where I walked no more;
But something had passed of her grace
To the spell of the wave and the shore;
And now, as the glad stars rise,
She comes to me, rosy and rare,
The delight of the wind in her eyes
And the hand of the wind in her hair.
1872
Chorus Of Angels.
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Christ is arisen!
Mortal, all hail!
Thou, of Earth's prison
Dreary and frail,
Bursting the veil,
Proudly hast risen!
CHORUS OF WOMEN.
Rich spices and myrrh,
To embalm Him we brought;
His corpse to inter
His true followers sought.
In pure cerements shrin'd,
'Twas placed in the bier
But, alas! we now find
That Christ is not here.
CHORUS OF ANGELS.
Christ is arisen!
Speechless His love.
Who to Earth's prison
Came from above,
Trials to prove.
Now is He risen!
CHORUS OF YOUTHS.
Death's gloomy portal
Now hath He rended,
Living, immortal,
Heavenward ascended;
Freed from His anguish,
Sees He God's throne;
We still must languish,
Earthbound, alone.
Now that He's reft us,
Heart-sad we pine;
Why hast Thou left us,
Master divine?
CHORUS OF ANGELS.
Christ is arisen,
Death hath He slain;
Burst ye your prison,
Rend ye each chain!
Songs of praise lead ye,
Love to show, heed ye,
Hungry ones feed ye,
Preaching, on speed ye,
Coming joys plead ye,
Then is the Master near,
Then is He here!
Christ's Part.
by Robert Herrick

Christ, He requires still, wheresoe'er He comes
To feed or lodge, to have the best of rooms:
Give Him the choice; grant Him the nobler part
Of all the house: the best of all's the heart.
Cities And Thrones And Powers
by Rudyard Kipling

Cities and Thrones and Powers
Stand in Time's eye,
Almost as long as flowers,
Which daily die:
But, as new buds put forth
To glad new men,
Out of the spent and unconsidered Earth
The Cities rise again.
This season's Daffodil,
She never hears
What change, what chance, what chill,
Cut down last year's;
But with bold countenance,
And knowledge small,
Esteems her seven days' continuance,
To be perpetual.
So Time that is o'er-kind
To all that be,
Ordains us e'en as blind,
As bold as she:
That in our very death,
And burial sure,
Shadow to shadow, well persuaded, saith,
"See how our works endure!"
Christ's Action.
by Robert Herrick

Christ never did so great a work but there
His human nature did in part appear;
Or ne'er so mean a piece but men might see
Therein some beams of His Divinity:
So that in all He did there did combine
His human nature and His part divine.
In The Wilderness
by Robert von Ranke Graves

Christ of His gentleness
Thirsting and hungering,
Walked in the wilderness;
Soft words of grace He spoke
Unto lost desert-folk
That listened wondering.
He heard the bitterns call
From ruined palace-wall,
Answered them brotherly.
He held communion
With the she-pelican
Of lonely piety.
Basilisk, cockatrice,
Flocked to his homilies,
With mail of dread device,
With monstrous barb'd slings,
With eager dragon-eyes;
Great rats on leather wings
And poor blind broken things,
Foul in their miseries.
And ever with Him went,
Of all His wanderings
Comrade, with ragged coat,
Gaunt ribs, poor innocent, 
Bleeding foot, burning throat,
The guileless old scapegoat;
For forty nights and days
Followed in Jesus' ways,
Sure guard behind Him kept,
Tears like a lover wept.
Love
by Nancy Rebecca Campbell Glass

For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God. Ephesians 2:8.
Christ might have called the angels down
To bear him safe above,
To shield his brow from sorrow's crown,
From death's cold blight, and bitter frown,
Had it not been for love.
Our glorious King, our Prince of Peace,
Has left his throne above
To give our souls from sin release,
To make our pain and anguish cease,
And all because of love.
By faith in him, we all may see
In realms of light above,
Through streams of blood on Calvary,
A joyful immortality; 
The purchase price was love.
The Doom Of Beauty.
by Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Spirto ben nato.
Choice soul, in whom, as in a glass, we see,
Mirrored in thy pure form and delicate,
What beauties heaven and nature can create,
The paragon of all their works to be!
Fair soul, in whom love, pity, piety,
Have found a home, as from thy outward state
We clearly read, and are so rare and great
That they adorn none other like to thee!
Love takes me captive; beauty binds my soul;
Pity and mercy with their gentle eyes
Wake in my heart a hope that cannot cheat.
What law, what destiny, what fell control,
What cruelty, or late or soon, denies
That death should spare perfection so complete?
Christmas, 1873
by George MacDonald

Christmas-Days are still in store:--
Will they change--steal faded hither?
Or come fresh as heretofore,
Summering all our winter weather?
Surely they will keep their bloom
All the countless pacing ages:
In the country whence they come
Children only are the sages!
Hither, every hour and year,
Children come to cure our oldness--
Oft, alas, to gather sear
Unbelief, and earthy boldness!
Men they grow and women cold,
Selfish, passionate, and plaining!
Ever faster they grow old:--
On the world, ah, eld is gaining!
Child, whose childhood ne'er departs!
Jesus, with the perfect father!
Drive the age from parents' hearts;
To thy heart the children gather.
Send thy birth into our souls,
With its grand and tender story.
Hark! the gracious thunder rolls!--
News to men! to God old glory!
To Christina, Queen of Sweden, with Cromwell's Picture.[1]
by William Cowper

Christina, maiden of heroic mien!
Star of the North! of northern stars the queen!
Behold, what wrinkles I have earn'd, and how
The iron cask still chafes my vet'ran brow,
While following fate's dark footsteps, I fulfill
The dictates of a hardy people's will.
But soften'd, in thy sight, my looks appear,
Not to all Queens or Kings alike severe.
Christ's Incarnation.
by Robert Herrick

Christ took our nature on Him, not that He
'Bove all things loved it for the purity:
No, but He dress'd Him with our human trim,
Because our flesh stood most in need of Him.
How To Make One's Self A Peer.
by Thomas Moore

ACCORDING TO THE NEWEST RECEIPT AS DISCLOSED IN A LATE HERALDIC WORK,[1]
Choose some title that's dormant--the Peerage hath many--
Lord Baron of Shamdos sounds nobly as any.
Next, catch a dead cousin of said defunct Peer,
And marry him, off hand, in some given year,
To the daughter of somebody,--no matter who,--
Fig, the grocer himself, if you're hard run, will do;
For, the Medici pills still in heraldry tell,
And why shouldn't lollypops quarter as well?
Thus, having your couple, and one a lord's cousin,
Young materials for peers may be had by the dozen;
And 'tis hard if, inventing each small mother's son of 'em,
You can't somehow manage to prove yourself one of 'em.
Should registers, deeds and such matters refractory,
Stand in the way of this lord-manufactory,
I've merely to hint, as a secret auricular,
One grand rule of enterprise,--don't be particular.
A man who once takes such a jump at nobility,
Must not mince the matter, like folks of nihility,
But clear thick and thin with true lordly agility.
'Tis true, to a would-be descendant from Kings,
Parish-registers sometimes are troublesome things;
As oft, when the vision is near brought about,
Some goblin, in shape of a grocer, grins out;
Or some barber, perhaps, with my Lord mingles bloods,
And one's patent of peerage is left in the suds.
But there are ways--when folks are resolved to be lords--
Of expurging even troublesome parish records.
What think ye of scissors? depend on't no heir
Of a Shamdos should go unsupplied with a pair,
As whate'er else the learned in such lore may invent,
Your scissors does wonders in proving descent.
Yes, poets may sing of those terrible shears
With which Atropos snips off both bumpkins and peers,
But they're naught to that weapon which shines in the hands
Of some would-be Patricians, when proudly he stands
O'er the careless churchwarden's baptismal array,
And sweeps at each cut generations away.
By some babe of old times is his peerage resisted?
One snip,--and the urchin hath never existed!
Does some marriage, in days near the Flood, interfere
With his one sublime object of being a Peer?
Quick the shears at once nullify bridegroom and bride,--
No such people have ever lived, married or died!
Such the newest receipt for those high minded elves,
Who've a fancy for making great lords of themselves.
Follow this, young aspirer who pant'st for a peerage,
Take S--m for thy model and B--z for thy steerage,
Do all and much worse than old Nicholas Flam does,
And--who knows but you'll be Lord Baron of Shamdos?
Hymn For My Brother's Ordination
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Christ to the young man said: "Yet one thing more;
If thou wouldst perfect be,
Sell all thou hast and give it to the poor,
And come and follow me!"
Within this temple Christ again, unseen,
Those sacred words hath said,
And his invisible hands to-day have been
Laid on a young man's head.
And evermore beside him on his way
The unseen Christ shall move,
That he may lean upon his arm and say,
"Dost thou, dear Lord, approve?"
Beside him at the marriage feast shall be,
To make the scene more fair;
Beside him in the dark Gethsemane
Of pain and midnight prayer.
O holy trust!    O endless sense of rest!
Like the beloved John
To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast,
And thus to journey on!
A Little Girl Lost
by William Blake

Children of the future age,
Reading this indignant page,
Know that in a former time
Love, sweet love, was thought a crime.
In the age of gold,
Free from winter's cold,
Youth and maiden bright,
To the holy light,
Naked in the sunny beams delight.
Once a youthful pair,
Filled with softest care,
Met in garden bright
Where the holy light
Had just removed the curtains of the night.
Then, in rising day,
On the grass they play;
Parents were afar,
Strangers came not near,
And the maiden soon forgot her fear.
Tired with kisses sweet,
They agree to meet
When the silent sleep
Waves o'er heaven's deep,
And the weary tired wanderers weep.
To her father white
Came the maiden bright;
But his loving look,
Like the holy book
All her tender limbs with terror shook.
"Ona, pale and weak,
To thy father speak!
Oh the trembling fear!
Oh the dismal care
That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair!"
Christ's Words On The Cross: My God, My God.
by Robert Herrick

Christ, when He hung the dreadful cross upon,
Had, as it were, a dereliction
In this regard, in those great terrors He
Had no one beam from God's sweet majesty.
Epitaph On Robert Southey.
by William Lisle Bowles

Christian! for none who scorns that holy name
Can gaze with honest eyes on Southey's fame;
Christian! bow down thy head in humble fear,
And think what God-given powers lie silenced here:
Wit, judgment, memory, patience unsubdued,
Conception vast, and pious fortitude.
Learning possessed no steeps, and truth no shore,
Beyond his step to tread, his wing to soar;
His was the historian's pen, the poet's lyre,
The churchman's ardour, and the patriot's fire;
While fireside charities, Heaven's gentlest dower,
Lent genius all their warmth and all their power.
O Church and State of England! thine was he
In living fame, thine be his memory!
Thou saw'st him live, in faith expire,
Go, bid thy sons to follow, and admire!
To Cinna
by Eugene Field

Cinna, the great Venusian told
In songs that will not die
How in Augustan days of old
Your love did glorify
His life and all his being seemed
Thrilled by that rare incense
Till, grudging him the dreams he dreamed,
The gods did call you hence.
Cinna, I've looked into your eyes,
And held your hands in mine,
And seen your cheeks in sweet surprise
Blush red as Massic wine;
Now let the songs in Cinna's praise
Be chanted once again,
For, oh! alone I walk the ways
We walked together then!
Perhaps upon some star to-night,
So far away in space
I cannot see that beacon light
Nor feel its soothing grace--
Perhaps from that far-distant sphere
Her quickened vision seeks
For this poor heart of mine that here
To its lost Cinna speaks.
Then search this heart, beloved eyes,
And find it still as true
As when in all my boyhood skies
My guiding stars were you!
Cinna, you know the mystery
That is denied to men--
Mine is the lot to feel that we
Shall elsewhere love again!