OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems (Emerson, 1847)/Give all to Love

GIVE ALL TO LOVE.
Give all to love; Obey thy heart; Friends, kindred, days, Estate, good-fame, Plans, credit, and the Muse,— Nothing refuse.
'Tis a brave master; Let it have scope: Follow it utterly, Hope beyond hope: High and more high It dives into noon, With wing unspent, Untold intent; ​But it is a god, Knows its own path; And the outlets of the sky.
It was not for the mean; It requireth courage stout, Souls above doubt, Valor unbending; Such 'twill reward,— They shall return More than they were, And ever ascending.
Leave all for love; Yet, hear me, yet, One word more thy heart behoved, One pulse more of firm endeavor,— Keep thee to-day, To-morrow, forever, Free as an Arab Of thy beloved.
​Cling with life to the maid; But when the surprise, First vague shadow of surmise Flits across her bosom young Of a joy apart from thee, Free be she, fancy-free; Nor thou detain her vesture's hem, Nor the palest rose she flung From her summer diadem.
Though thou loved her as thyself, As a self of purer clay, Though her parting dims the day, Stealing grace from all alive; Heartily know, When half-gods go, The gods arrive.
# Poems (Emerson, 1847)/Good-bye

GOOD-BYE.
Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home: Thou art not my friend, and I'm not thine. Long through thy weary crowds I roam; A river-ark on the ocean brine, Long I've been tossed like the driven foam; But now, proud world! I'm going home.
Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face; To Grandeur with his wise grimace; To upstart Wealth's averted eye; To supple Office, low and high; To crowded halls, to court and street; To frozen hearts and hasting feet; To those who go, and those who come; Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home.
​I am going to my own hearth-stone, Bosomed in yon green hills alone,— A secret nook in a pleasant land, Whose groves the frolic fairies planned; Where arches green, the livelong day, Echo the blackbird's roundelay, And vulgar feet have never trod A spot that is sacred to thought and God.
O, when I am safe in my sylvan home, I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome; And when I am stretched beneath the pines, Where the evening star so holy shines, I laugh at the lore and the pride of man, At the sophist schools, and the learned clan; For what are they all, in their high conceit, When man in the bush with God may meet?
# Poems (Emerson, 1847)/Guy

GUY.
Mortal mixed of middle clay, Attempered to the night and day, Interchangeable with things, Needs no amulets nor rings. Guy possessed the talisman That all things from him began; And as, of old, Polycrates Chained the sunshine and the breeze, So did Guy betimes discover Fortune was his guard and lover; In strange junctures, felt, with awe, His own symmetry with law; So that no mixture could withstand The virtue of his lucky hand. He gold or jewel could not lose, Nor not receive his ample dues. ​In the street, if he turned round, His eye the eye 'twas seeking found. It seemed his Genius discreet Worked on the Maker's own receipt, And made each tide and element Stewards of stipend and of rent; So that the common waters fell As costly wine into his well. He had so sped his wise affairs That he caught Nature in his snares: Early or late, the falling rain Arrived in time to swell his grain; Stream could not so perversely wind But corn of Guy's was there to grind; The siroc found it on its way, To speed his sails, to dry his hay; And the world's sun seemed to rise, To drudge all day for Guy the wise. In his rich nurseries, timely skill Strong crab with nobler blood did fill; The zephyr in his garden rolled From plum-trees vegetable gold; ​And all the hours of the year With their own harvest honored were. There was no frost but welcome came, Nor freshet, nor midsummer flame. Belonged to wind and world the toil And venture, and to Guy the oil.
# Poems (Emerson, 1847)/Hymn

HYMN:
SUNG AT THE COMPLETION OF THE CONCORD MONUMENT,
April 19, 1836.
By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world.
The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.
On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set to-day a votive stone; That memory may their deed redeem, When, like our sires, our sons are gone.
​Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die, or leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee.
# Poems (Emerson, 1847)/Hamatreya

HAMATREYA.
Minott, Lee, Willard, Hosmer, Meriam, Flint Possessed the land which rendered to their toil Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, apples, wool, and wood. Each of these landlords walked amidst his farm, Saying, ''Tis mine, my children's, and my name's: How sweet the west wind sounds in my own trees! How graceful climb those shadows on my hill! I fancy these pure waters and the flags Know me, as does my dog: we sympathize; And, I affirm, my actions smack of the soil.' Where are these men? Asleep beneath their grounds; And strangers, fond as they, their furrows plough. Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs; Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet Clear of the grave. ​They added ridge to valley, brook to pond, And sighed for all that bounded their domain. 'This suits me for a pasture; that's my park; We must have clay, lime, gravel, granite-ledge, And misty lowland, where to go for peat. The land is well,—lies fairly to the south. 'Tis good, when you have crossed the sea and back, To find the sitfast acres where you left them.' Ah! the hot owner sees not Death, who adds Him to his land, a lump of mould the more. Hear what the Earth says:—
EARTH-SONG.
'Mine and yours; Mine, not yours. Earth endures; Stars abide— Shine down in the old sea; Old are the shores; But where are old men? ​I who have seen much, Such have I never seen.
'The lawyer's deed Ran sure, In tail, To them, and to their heirs Who shall succeed, Without fail, Forevermore.
'Here is the land, Shaggy with wood, With its old valley, Mound, and flood. But the heritors? Fled like the flood's foam,— The lawyer, and the laws, And the kingdom, Clean swept herefrom.
​'They called me theirs, Who so controlled me; Yet every one Wished to stay, and is gone. How am I theirs, If they cannot hold me, But I hold them?'
When I heard the Earth-song, I was no longer brave; My avarice cooled Like lust in the chill of the grave.
# Poems (Emerson, 1847)/Hermione

HERMIONE.
On a mound an Arab lay, And sung his sweet regrets, And told his amulets: The summer bird His sorrow heard, And, when he heaved a sigh profound, The sympathetic swallow swept the ground.
'If it be, as they said, she was not fair, Beauty 's not beautiful to me, But sceptred genius, aye inorbed, Culminating in her sphere. This Hermione absorbed The lustre of the land and ocean, Hills and islands, cloud and tree, In her form and motion.
​'I ask no bawble miniature, Nor ringlets dead Shorn from her comely head, Now that morning not disdains Mountains and the misty plains Her colossal portraiture; They her heralds be, Steeped in her quality, And singers of her fame Who is their Muse and dame.
'Higher, dear swallows! mind not what I say. Ah! heedless how the weak are strong, Say, was it just, In thee to frame, in me to trust, Thou to the Syrian couldst belong?
I am of a lineage That each for each doth fast engage; In old Bassora's schools, I seemed Hermit vowed to books and gloom,— ​Ill-bested for gay bridegroom. I was by thy touch redeemed; When thy meteor glances came, We talked at large of worldly fate, And drew truly every trait.
Once I dwelt apart, Now I live with all; As shepherd's lamp on far hill-side Seems, by the traveller espied, A door into the mountain heart, So didst thou quarry and unlock Highways for me through the rock.
Now, deceived, thou wanderest In strange lands unblest; And my kindred come to soothe me. Southwind is my next of blood; He is come through fragrant wood, Drugged with spice from climates warm, And in every twinkling glade, ​And twilight nook, Unveils thy form. Out of the forest way Forth paced it yesterday; And when I sat by the watercourse, Watching the daylight fade, It throbbed up from the brook.
'River, and rose, and crag, and bird, Frost, and sun, and eldest night, To me their aid preferred, To me their comfort plight;— "Courage! we are thine allies, And with this hint be wise,— The chains of kind The distant bind; Deed thou doest she must do, Above her will, be true; And, in her strict resort To winds and waterfalls, And autumn's sunlit festivals, To music, and to music's thought, ​Inextricably bound, She shall find thee, and be found. Follow not her flying feet; Come to us herself to meet."'
# Poems (Emerson, 1847)/Holidays

HOLIDAYS.
From fall to spring the russet acorn, Fruit beloved of maid and boy, Lent itself beneath the forest, To be the children's toy.
Pluck it now! In vain,—thou canst not; Its root has pierced yon shady mound; Toy no longer—it has duties; It is anchored in the ground.
Year by year the rose-lipped maiden, Playfellow of young and old, Was frolic sunshine, dear to all men, More dear to one than mines of gold.
​Whither went the lovely hoyden? Disappeared in blessed wife; Servant to a wooden cradle, Living in a baby's life.
Still thou playest;—short vacation Fate grants each to stand aside; Now must thou be man and artist,— 'Tis the turning of the tide.
# Poems (Greenwell)/To a Long-parted Friend (As by a camp-fire in the wilderness)

TO A LONG-PARTED FRIEND.
"That I never made use of your stay here to unite the present with departed days is one of the things—there are not a few of them—for which I can never be consoled; it was as though a spell lay upon me; I felt it would be enough to speak one word, but that word I could not unclose my lips to speak. The Past could not rise again from its grave, and I felt as though it would have shaken the foundations of that Present, which it is now my duty to preserve and develop. My mind is like a nation that has passed through a revolution, and must proceed in a new order, the old order being irrevocably destroyed . . . . Yet how was it with me after you had gone?"—Niebuhr to Count Adam Moltke.
# Poems (Greenwell)/To the Nineteenth Century

"In this book regard rather the affections than the expressions; Love is the speaker throughout, and if any one wish to understand it, it must be by Love."
St. Bernard on the Canticles.
# Poems (Follen)/Nancy's Brook

NANCY'S BROOK.
The following story was related to the writer on the spot, when on a journey to the White Mountains.
# Poems (Greenwood)

Grace Greenwood 1850—
POEMS
by
GRACE GREENWOOD.
BOSTON:
TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS.
M DCCC LI.
cambridge: metcalf and company, printers to the university.
DEDICATION.
TO MY MOTHER.
On your heart, my beloved mother, I would lay this offering;—because from the inflowing of your nature all poetry of mine has its source, so that these lays, whether embodying the light, sweet dreams of the girl, or the fervor and aspiration of the woman, are in spirit more yours than my own;—because from you come my joy in the beautiful, and my faith in the good;—because in your great love I have found the strength and repose and the fulness of life.
I say this in simple words, and few,—for the reason that heart-throbs can hardly be set to music, and that I could not well say more, were all my soul poured out in song.
Grace.
PREFACE.
I have but a word to offer in the way of a preface. I would only ask a generous public to regard this volume more as a promise than a performance,—more as a prophecy than a fulfilment. To the critic I would only whisper, that this collection is not nearly as large as it might have been; and that I am confident he would overlook the bad verse he may find in it, could he know how much worse poetry has been left out.
G. G.
POEMS.
CONTENTS.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Poems (Greenwood)/Ariadne

ARIADNE.
The demigod Theseus having won the love of Ariadne, daughter of the king of Crete, deserted her on the isle of Naxoa. In Miss Bremer's H——— Family, the blind girl is described as singing "Ariadne a Naxos," in which Ariadne is represented as following Theseus, climbing a high rock to watch his departing vessel, and calling upon him in her despairing anguish.
# Poems (Tennyson, 1833)/Oenone

ŒNONE.
# Poems (Tennyson, 1833)/Rosalind

ROSALIND.
# Poems (Tennyson, 1833)/Sonnet (2)

SONNET.
i.
How can'st thou let me waste my youth in sighs? I only ask to sit beside thy feet. Thou knowest I dare not look into thine eyes. Might I but kiss thy hand! I dare not fold My arms about thee—scarcely dare to speak. And nothing seems to me so wild and bold, As with one kiss to touch thy blessèd cheek. Methinks if I should kiss thee, no control Within the thrilling brain could keep afloat The subtle spirit. Even while I spoke, The bare word kiss hath made my inner soul To tremble like a lutestring, ere the note Hath melted in the silence that it broke.
# Poems (Tennyson, 1833)/Mariana in the South

MARIANA IN THE SOUTH.
Behind the barren hill upsprung With pointed rocks against the light, The crag sharpshadowed overhung Each glaring creek and inlet bright. Far, far, one lightblue ridge was seen, Looming like baseless fairyland; Eastward a slip of burning sand, Dark-rimmed with sea, and bare of green. Down in the dry salt-marshes stood That house darklatticed. Not a breath Swayed the sick vineyard underneath, Or moved the dusty southernwood.
"Madonna," with melodious moan Sang Mariana, night and morn, "Madonna! lo! I am all alone, Love-forgotten and love-forlorn."
She, as her carol sadder grew, From her warm brow and bosom down Through rosy taper fingers drew Her streaming curls of deepest brown On either side, and made appear, Still-lighted in a secret shrine, Her melancholy eyes divine, The home of woe without a tear. "Madonna," with melodious moan Sang Mariana, night and morn, "Madonna! lo! I am all alone, Love-forgotten and love-forlorn."
When the dawncrimson changed, and past Into deep orange o'er the sea, Low on her knees herself she cast, Unto our lady prayèd she.
She moved her lips, she prayed alone, She praying disarrayed and warm From slumber, deep her wavy form In the darklustrous mirror shone. "Madonna," in a low clear tone Said Mariana, night and morn, Low she mourned, "I am all alone, Love-forgotten, and love-forlorn."
At noon she slumbered. All along The silvery field, the large leaves talked With one another, as among The spikèd maize in dreams she walked. The lizard leapt: the sunlight played: She heard the callow nestling lisp, And brimful meadow-runnels crisp, In the full-leavèd platan-shade. In sleep she breathed in a lower tone, Murmuring as at night and morn, "Madonna! lo! I am all alone, Love-forgotten and love-forlorn,"
Dreaming, she knew it was a dream Most false: he was and was not there. She woke: the babble of the stream Fell, and without the steady glare Shrank the sick olive sere and small. The riverbed was dusty-white; From the bald rock the blinding light Beat ever on the sunwhite wall. She whispered, with a stifled moan More inward than at night or morn, "Madonna, leave me not all alone, To die forgotten and live forlorn."
One dry cicala's summer song At night filled all the gallery, Backward the latticeblind she flung, And leaned upon the balcony. Ever the low wave seemed to roll Up to the coast; far on, alone In the East, lange Hesper overshone The mourning gulf, and on her soul
Poured divine solace, or the rise Of moonlight from the margin gleamed, Volcano-like, afar, and streamed On her white arm, and heavenward eyes. Not all alone she made her moan, Yet ever sang she, night and morn, "Madonna, lo! I am all alone, Love-forgotten and love-forlorn.”
# Poems (Tennyson, 1833)/O Darling Room

O DARLING ROOM.
i.
Dear room, the apple of my sight, With thy two couches soft and white, There is no room so exquisite, No little room so warm and bright, Wherein to read, wherein to write.
ii.
And Oberwinter's vineyards green, Musical Lurlei; and between The hills to Bingen have I been, Bingen in Darmstadt, where the Rhene Curves toward Mentz, a woody scene.
iii.
In any town, to left or right, A little room so exquisite, With two such couches, soft and white; Not any room so warm and bright, Wherein to read, wherein to write.
# Poems (Tennyson, 1833)/New-Year's Eve

NEWYEAR'S EVE.
# Poems (Tennyson, 1833)/Margaret

MARGARET.
# Poems (Tennyson, 1833)/Song

SONG.
# Poems (Tennyson, 1833)/Sonnet (1)

POEMS.
SONNET.
Mine be the strength of spirit fierce and free, Like some broad river rushing down alone, With the selfsame impulse wherewith he was thrown From his loud fount upon the echoing lea:— Which with increasing might doth forward flee By town, and tower, and hill, and cape, and isle, And in the middle of the green salt sea Keeps his blue waters fresh for many a mile. Mine be the Power which ever to it's sway Will win the wise at once, and by degrees May into uncongenial spirits flow; Even as the great gulfstream of Florida Floats far away into the Northern seas The lavish growths of southern Mexico.
# Poems and Ballads (Swinburne)/Satia te Sanguine

SATIA TE SANGUINE.
If you loved me ever so little, I could bear the bonds that gall, I could dream the bonds were brittle; You do not love me at all.
O beautiful lips, O bosom More white than the moon’s and warm, A sterile, a ruinous blossom Is blown your way in a storm.
As the lost white feverish limbs Of the Lesbian Sappho, adrift In foam where the sea-weed swims, Swam loose for the streams to lift,
My heart swims blind in a sea That stuns me; swims to and fro, And gathers to windward and lee Lamentation, and mourning, and woe.
A broken, an emptied boat, Sea saps it, winds blow apart, Sick and adrift and afloat, The barren waif of a heart.
Where, when the gods would be cruel, Do they go for a torture? where Plant thorns, set pain like a jewel? Ah, not in the flesh, not there!
The racks of earth and the rods Are weak as foam on the sands; In the heart is the prey for gods, Who crucify hearts, not hands.
Mere pangs corrode and consume, Dead when life dies in the brain; In the infinite spirit is room For the pulse of an infinite pain.
I wish you were dead, my dear; I would give you, had I to give, Some death too bitter to fear; It is better to die than live.
I wish you were stricken of thunder And burnt with a bright flame through, Consumed and cloven in sunder, I dead at your feet like you.
If I could but know after all, I might cease to hunger and ache, Though your heart were ever so small, If it were not a stone or a snake.
You are crueller, you that we love, Than hatred, hunger, or death; You have eyes and breasts like a dove, And you kill men’s hearts with a breath.
As plague in a poisonous city Insults and exults on her dead, So you, when pallid for pity Comes love, and fawns to be fed.
As a tame beast writhes and wheedles, He fawns to be fed with wiles; You carve him a cross of needles, And whet them sharp as your smiles.
He is patient of thorn and whip, He is dumb under axe or dart; You suck with a sleepy red lip The wet red wounds in his heart.
You thrill as his pulses dwindle, You brighten and warm as he bleeds, With insatiable eyes that kindle And insatiable mouth that feeds.
Your hands nailed love to the tree, You stript him, scourged him with rods, And drowned him deep in the sea That hides the dead and their gods.
And for all this, die will he not; There is no man sees him but I; You came and went and forgot; I hope he will some day die.
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# Poems and Ballads (Swinburne)/Stage Love

STAGE LOVE.
When the game began between them for a jest, He played king and she played queen to match the best; Laughter soft as tears, and tears that turned to laughter, These were things she sought for years and sorrowed after.
Pleasure with dry lips, and pain that walks by night; All the sting and all the stain of long delight; These were things she knew not of, that knew not of her, When she played at half a love with half a lover.
Time was chorus, gave them cues to laugh or cry; They would kill, befool, amuse him, let him die; Set him webs to weave to-day and break to-morrow, Till he died for good in play, and rose in sorrow.
What the years mean; how time dies and is not slain; How love grows and laughs and cries and wanes again; These were things she came to know, and take their measure, When the play was played out so for one man’s pleasure.
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# Poems and Ballads (Swinburne)/Rondel (1)

RONDEL.
These many years since we began to be, What have the gods done with us? what with me, What with my love? they have shown me fates and fears, Harsh springs, and fountains bitterer than the sea, Grief a fixed star, and joy a vane that veers, These many years.
With her, my love, with her have they done well? But who shall answer for her? who shall tell Sweet things or sad, such things as no man hears? May no tears fall, if no tears ever fell, From eyes more dear to me than starriest spheres These many years!
But if tears ever touched, for any grief, Those eyelids folded like a white-rose leaf, Deep double shells wherethrough the eye-flower peers, Let them weep once more only, sweet and brief, Brief tears and bright, for one who gave her tears These many years.
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# Poems and Ballads (Swinburne)/Rondel (2)

RONDEL.
Kissing her hair I sat against her feet, Wove and unwove it, wound and found it sweet; Made fast therewith her hands, drew down her eyes, Deep as deep flowers and dreamy like dim skies; With her own tresses bound and found her fair, Kissing her hair.
Sleep were no sweeter than her face to me, Sleep of cold sea-bloom under the cold sea; What pain could get between my face and hers? What new sweet thing would love not relish worse? Unless, perhaps, white death had kissed me there, Kissing her hair?
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# Poems and Ballads (Swinburne)/May Janet

MAY JANET
(Breton.)
"Stand up, stand up, thou May Janet, And go to the wars with me." He's drawn her by both hands With her face against the sea.
"He that strews red shall gather white, He that sows white reap red, Before your face and my daughter's Meet in a marriage-bed.
"Gold coin shall grow in the yellow field, Green corn in the green sea-water, And red fruit grow of the rose's red, Ere your fruit grow in her."
"But I shall have her by land," he said, "Or I shall have her by sea, Or I shall have her by strong treason And no grace go with me."
Her father's drawn her by both hands, He's rent her gown from her, He's ta'en the smock round her body, Cast in the sea-water.
The captain's drawn her by both sides Out of the fair green sea; "Stand up, stand up, thou May Janet, And come to the war with me."
The first town they came to There was a blue bride-chamber; He clothed her on with silk And belted her with amber.
The second town they came to The bridesmen feasted knee to knee; He clothed her on with silver, A stately thing to see.
The third town they came to The bridesmaids all had gowns of gold; He clothed her on with purple, A rich thing to behold.
The last town they came to He clothed her white and red, With a green flag either side of her And a gold flag overhead.
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