OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Wild Swans at Coole (Collection)/The Collar-Bone of a Hare

THE COLLAR-BONE OF A HARE
Would I could cast a sail on the water Where many a king has gone And many a king's daughter, And alight at the comely trees and the lawn, The playing upon pipes and the dancing, And learn that the best thing is To change my loves while dancing And pay but a kiss for a kiss.
I would find by the edge of that water The collar-bone of a hare Worn thin by the lapping of water, And pierce it through with a gimlet and stare
At the old bitter world where they marry in churches, And laugh over the untroubled water At all who marry in churches, Through the white thin bone of a hare.
# The Wild Swans at Coole (Collection)/Memory

MEMORY
One had a lovely face, And two or three had charm, But charm and face were in vain Because the mountain grass Cannot but keep the form Where the mountain hare has lain.
# The Wild Swans at Coole (Collection)/On Being Asked for a War Poem

ON BEING ASKED FOR A WAR POEM
I think it better that in times like these A poet keep his mouth shut, for in truth We have no gift to set a statesman right; He has had enough of meddling who can please A young girl in the indolence of her youth, Or an old man upon a winter's night.
# The Wild Swans at Coole (Collection)/On Woman

ON WOMAN
May God be praised for woman That gives up all her mind, A man may find in no man A friendship of her kind That covers all he has brought As with her flesh and bone, Nor quarrels with a thought Because it is not her own.
Though pedantry denies It's plain the Bible means That Solomon grew wise While talking with his queens. Yet never could, although They say he counted grass, Count all the praises due
When Sheba was his lass, When she the iron wrought, or When from the smithy fire It shuddered in the water: Harshness of their desire That made them stretch and yawn, Pleasure that comes with sleep, Shudder that made them one. What else He give or keep God grant me—no, not here, For I am not so bold To hope a thing so dear Now I am growing old, But when, if the tale's true, The Pestle of the moon That pounds up all anew Brings me to birth again— To find what once I had And know what once I have known, Until I am driven mad, Sleep driven from my bed, By tenderness and care, Pity, an aching head,
Gnashing of teeth, despair; And all because of some one Perverse creature of chance, And live like Solomon That Sheba led a dance.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/The Innocent Ill

THE INNOCENT ILL.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/The Long Life

THE LONG LIFE.
page
Love from Time's wings has stol’n the feathers sure He has, and put them to his own.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/The Prophet

THE PROPHET.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/The Resolution

THE RESOLUTION.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/The Request

THE MISTRESS.
THE REQUEST.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/The Increase

THE INCREASE.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/The Incurable

THE INCURABLE.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/The Monopoly

THE MONOPOLY.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/The Parting

THE PARTING.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/The Passions

THE PASSIONS.
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To Caroline (3)

TO CAROLINE.
1.
Oh! when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow? Oh! when shall my soul wing her flight from this clay? ​The present is hell! and the coming to-morrow But brings, with new torture, the curse of to-day.
2.
From my eye flows no tear, from my lips flow no curses, I blast not the fiends who have hurl'd me from bliss; For poor is the soul which, bewailing, rehearses Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this—
3.
Was my eye, 'stead of tears, with red fury flakes bright'ning, Would my lips breathe a flame which no stream could assuage, On our foes should my glance launch in vengeance its lightning. With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage.
4.
But now tears and curses, alike unavailing, Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight; Could they view us our sad separation bewailing, Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight.
5.
Yet, still, though we bend with a feign'd resignation, Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer; Love and Hope upon earth bring no more consolation, In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear.
6.
Oh! when, my ador'd, in the tomb will they place me, Since, in life, love and friendship for ever are fled? If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee, Perhaps they will leave unmolested—the dead.
1805.
* ↑ .[To ——.—[4to].]
* ↑ —— fall no curses.—[4to. P. on V. Occasions.]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/There was a Time, I need not name

THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME.
1.
There was a time, I need not name, Since it will ne'er forgotten be, When all our feelings were the same As still my soul hath been to thee.
2.
And from that hour when first thy tongue Confess'd a love which equall'd mine, Though many a grief my heart hath wrung, Unknown, and thus unfelt, by thine,
3.
None, none hath sunk so deep as this— To think how all that love hath flown; Transient as every faithless kiss, But transient in thy breast alone.
4.
And yet my heart some solace knew, When late I heard thy lips declare, In accents once imagined true, Remembrance of the days that were.
5.
Yes! my adored, yet most unkind! Though thou wilt never love again, To me 'tis doubly sweet to find Remembrance of that love remain.
6.
Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me, Nor longer shall my soul repine, Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be, Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.
June 10, 1808. [First published, 1809.]
* ↑ Stanzas to the Same.—[Imit. and Transl., p. 200.]
* ↑ [This copy of verses, with eight others, originally appeared in a volume published in 1809 by J. C. Hobhouse, under the title of Imitations and Translations, From the Ancient and Modern Classics, Together with Original Poems never before published. The MS. is in the possession of the Earl of Lovelace.]
* ↑ The memory of that love again.—[MS. L.]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To Anne (1)

TO ANNE.
1.
Oh, Anne, your offences to me have been grievous: I thought from my wrath no atonement could save you; But Woman is made to command and deceive us— I look'd in your face, and I almost forgave you.
2.
I vow'd I could ne'er for a moment respect you, Yet thought that a day's separation was long; When we met, I determined again to suspect you— Your smile soon convinced me suspicion was wrong.
3.
I swore, in a transport of young indignation, With fervent contempt evermore to disdain you: I saw you—my anger became admiration; And now, all my wish, all my hope's to regain you.
4.
With beauty like yours, oh, how vain the contention! Thus lowly I sue for forgiveness before you;— At once to conclude such a fruitless dissension, Be false, my sweet Anne, when I cease to adore you!
January 16, 1807. [First published, 1832.
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To Caroline (4)

TO CAROLINE.
1.
When I hear you express an affection so warm, Ne'er think, my belov'd, that I do not believe; For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm, And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive.
2.
Yet still, this fond bosom regrets, while adoring, That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear, That Age will come on, when Remembrance, deploring, Contemplates the scenes of her youth, with a tear;
3.
That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining, Prove nature a prey to decay and disease.
4.
'Tis this, my belov'd, which spreads gloom o'er my features, Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of his creatures, In the death which one day will deprive you of me.
5.
Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotion, No doubt can the mind of your lover invade; He worships each look with such faithful devotion, A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade.
6.
But as death, my belov'd, soon or late shall o'ertake us, And our breasts, which alive with such sympathy glow, Will sleep in the grave, till the blast shall awake us, When calling the dead, in Earth's bosom laid low.
7.
Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure, Which from passion, like ours, must unceasingly flow; Let us pass round the cup of Love's bliss in full measure, And quaff the contents as our nectar below.
1805.
* ↑ [There is no heading in the Quarto.]
* ↑ —— will deprive me of thee.—[4to]
* ↑ No jargon of priests o'er our union was mutter'd, To rivet the fetters of husband and wife; By our lips, by our hearts, were our vows alone utter'd, To perform them, in full, would ask more than a life.—[4to]
* ↑ —— will unceasingly flow.—[4to]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To D——

TO D——
1.
In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp A friend, whom death alone could sever; Till envy, with malignant grasp, Detach'd thee from my breast for ever.
2.
True, she has forc'd thee from my breast, Yet, in my heart thou keep'st thy seat; There, there, thine image still must rest, Until that heart shall cease to beat.
3.
And, when the grave restores her dead, When life again to dust is given, On thy dear breast I'll lay my head— Without thee! where would be my Heaven?
February, 1803.
* ↑ [George John, 5th Earl Delawarr (1791-1869). (See note 2, p. 100; see also lines "To George, Earl Delawarr," pp. 126-128.)]
* ↑ But envy with malignant grasp, Has torn thee from my breast for ever.—[410]
* ↑ But in my heart.—[410]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To Anne (2)

TO ANNE.
1.
Oh say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed The heart which adores you should wish to dissever; Such Fates were to me most unkind ones indeed,— To bear me from Love and from Beauty for ever.
2.
Your frowns, lovely girl, are the Fates which alone Could bid me from fond admiration refrain; By these, every hope, every wish were o'erthrown, Till smiles should restore me to rapture again.
3.
As the ivy and oak, in the forest entwin'd, The rage of the tempest united must weather; My love and my life were by nature design'd To flourish alike, or to perish together.
4.
Then say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed Your lover should bid you a lasting adieu: Till Fate can ordain that his bosom shall bleed, His Soul, his Existence, are centred in you.
1807. [First published, 1832.]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To Caroline (2)

TO CAROLINE.
1.
You say you love, and yet your eye No symptom of that love conveys, You say you love, yet know not why, Your cheek no sign of love betrays.
2.
Ah! did that breast with ardour glow, With me alone it joy could know, Or feel with me the listless woe, Which racks my heart when far from thee.
3.
Whene'er we meet my blushes rise, And mantle through my purpled cheek, But yet no blush to mine replies, Nor e'en your eyes your love bespeak.
4.
Your voice alone declares your flame, And though so sweet it breathes my name, Our passions still are not the same; Alas! you cannot love like me.
5.
For e'en your lip seems steep'd in snow, And though so oft it meets my kiss, It burns with no responsive glow, Nor melts like mine in dewy bliss.
6.
Ah! what are words to love like mine Though uttered by a voice like thine, I still in murmurs must repine, And think that love can ne'er be true,
7.
Which meets me with no joyous sign, Without a sigh which bids adieu; How different is my love from thine, How keen my grief when leaving you.
8.
Your image fills my anxious breast, Till day declines adown the West, And when at night, I sink to rest, In dreams your fancied form I view.
9.
'Tis then your breast, no longer cold, With equal ardour seems to burn, While close your arms around me fold, Your lips my kiss with warmth return.
10.
Ah! would these joyous moments last; Vain Hope! the gay delusion's past, That voice!—ah! no, 'tis but the blast, Which echoes through the neighbouring grove.
11.
But when awake, your lips I seek, And clasp enraptur'd all your charms, So chill's the pressure of your cheek, I fold a statue in my arms.
12.
If thus, when to my heart embrac'd, No pleasure in your eyes is trac'd, You may be prudent, fair, and chaste, But ah! my girl, you do not love.
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To Caroline (1)

TO CAROLINE.
1.
Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, Suffus'd in tears, implore to stay; And heard unmov'd thy plenteous sighs, Which said far more than words can say?
2.
Though keen the grief thy tears exprest, When love and hope lay both o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast Throbb'd, with deep sorrow, as thine own.
3.
But, when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine; The tears that from my eyelids flow'd Were lost in those which fell from thine.
4.
Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek, Thy gushing tears had quench'd its flame, And, as thy tongue essay'd to speak, In sighs alone it breath'd my name.
5.
And yet, my girl, we weep in vain, In vain our fate in sighs deplore; Remembrance only can remain, But that will make us weep the more.
6.
Again, thou best belov'd, adieu! Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret, Nor let thy mind past joys review, Our only hope is, to forget!
1805.
* ↑ To ——.—[4to]
* ↑ —— than words could say.—[4to]
* ↑ Though deep the grief.—[4to]
# The nearest Dream recedes—unrealized—

* "The nearest dream recedes unrealized" in Poems: Second Series (1891)
* "The nearest dream recedes, unrealized" in The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson (1924)
# The new way of The Soldier's Return

The new way of
The Soldier's Return;
TO WHICH IS ADDED,
The Ewe-Bughts, Marion.
LOCHABER NO MORE.
Flora's Lament for Charlie.
EDINBURGH: Printed for the Booksellers in Town and Country.
1822.
* The Soldier's Return
* The Ewe-Bughts Marion
* Lochaber No More
* Flora's Lament for Charlie
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
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 17/To Quinbus Flestrin

This work was probably written by Alexander Pope. See The Works of Alexander Pope (1995). Wordsworth Edition Ltd. p. 386. See also Gullivers Travels for a related work.
TO
QUINBUS FLESTRIN,
THE
MAN-MOUNTAIN.
A LILLIPUTIAN ODE.
IN amaze Lost I gaze! Can our eyes Reach thy size? May my lays Swell with praise, Worthy thee! Worthy me! Muse, inspire All thy fire! Bards of old Of him told, When they said Atlas' head Propp'd the skies: See! and believe your eyes! See him stride Vallies wide. Over woods, Over floods! When he treads, Mountains heads ​Groan and shake: Armies quake; Lest his spurn Overturn Man and steed: Troops take heed! Left and right, Speed your flight! Lest a host Beneath his foot be lost! Turn'd aside From his hide Safe from wound, Darts rebound. From his nose Clouds he blows; When he speaks, Thunder breaks! When he eats, Famine threats! When he drinks, Neptune shrinks! Nigh thy ear, In mid air, On thy hand Let me stand; So shall I, Lofty poet! touch the sky.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 17/To a Lady, with the Temple of Fame

This work was probably written by Alexander Pope. See The Works of Alexander Pope (1995). Wordsworth Edition Ltd. p. 392.
TO A LADY,
with the temple of fame.
WHAT'S fame with men, by custom of the nation, Is call'd, in women, only reputation: About them both why keep we such a pother? Part you with one, and I'll renounce the other.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 17/Verses on Sir Richard Blackmore

While this work is included within The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift and is not attributed to anyone other than Jonathan Swift, it may have been written by another member of the Scriblerus Club. The club, which was founded in 1714, included Jonathan Swift, Alexander Pope, John Gay, John Arbuthnot, Henry St John, and Thomas Parnell.
VERSES
SEE who ne'er was or will be half read! Who first sung Arthur, then sung Alfred; Prais'd great Eliza in God's anger, Till all true Englishmen cried, Hang her! Made William's virtues wipe the bare a—, And hanged up Marlborough in arras: Then, hiss'd from earth, grew heavenly quite: Made every reader curse the light; Maul'd human wit, in one thick satire; Next in three books sent Human Nature; Undid Creation at a jerk; And of Redemption made damn'd work. Then took his Muse, at once, and dipp'd her Full in the middle of the Scripture: What wonders there the man grown old did! Sternhold himself he out-Sternholded; ​Made David seem so mad and freakish, All thought him just what thought king Achish. No mortal read his Solomon, But judg'd R'oboam his own son. Moses he serv'd as Moses Pharaoh, And Deborah as she Siserah; Made Jeremy full sore to cry, And Job himself curse God and die.
What punishment all this must follow? Shall Arthur use him like king Tollo? Shall David as Uriah slay him? Or dext'rous Deb'rah Siserah him? Or shall Eliza lay a plot To treat him like her sister Scot? Shall William dub his better end? Or Marlb'rough serve him like a friend? No, none of these — Heaven spare his life! But send him, honest Job, thy wife.
* ↑ Two heroick poems in folio, twenty books.
* ↑ An heroick poem, in twelve books.
* ↑ An heroick poem in folio, ten books.
* ↑ Instructions to Vanderbank, a tapestry weaver.
* ↑ Hymn to the Light.
* ↑ Satire against Wit.
* ↑ Of the Nature of Man.
* ↑ Creation, a poem, in seven books.
* ↑ The Redeemer, another heroick poem, in six books.
* ↑ Translation of all the Psalms.
* ↑ Canticles and Ecclesiastes.
* ↑ Paraphrase of the Canticles of Moses and Deborah, &c.
* ↑ The Lamentations.
* ↑ The whole book of Job, a poem, in folio.
* ↑ Kick him on the breech, not knight him on the shoulder.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 17/Two or Three, or a Receipt to Make a Cuckold

While this work is included within The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift and is not attributed to anyone other than Jonathan Swift, it may have been written by another member of the Scriblerus Club. The club, which was founded in 1714, included Jonathan Swift, Alexander Pope, John Gay, John Arbuthnot, Henry St John, and Thomas Parnell.
TWO OR THREE:
OR, A RECEIPT TO MAKE A CUCKOLD.
TWO or three visits, and two or three bows, Two or three civil things, two or three vows, Two or three kisses, with two or three sighs, Two or three Jesuses and let-me-dies,
* Two or three squeezes, or two or three towzes,
* (With two or three thousand pound lost at their houses)
* Can never fail cuckolding two or three spouses.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 17/Verses to Bernard Lintot's New Miscellany

While this work is included within The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift and is not attributed to anyone other than Jonathan Swift, it may have been written by another member of the Scriblerus Club. The club, which was founded in 1714, included Jonathan Swift, Alexander Pope, John Gay, John Arbuthnot, Henry St John, and Thomas Parnell.
VERSES
TO BE PREFIXED BEFORE
BERNARD LINTOT'S NEW MISCELLANY.
SOME Colinæus praise, some Bleau, Others account them but so so; Some Plantin to the rest prefer, And some esteem old Elzevir; ​Others with Aldus would besot us; I, for my part, admire Lintottus. — His character's beyond compare, Like his own person, large and fair. They print their names in letters small. But LINTOT stands in capital: Author and he with equal grace Appear, and stare you in the face. Stephens prints heathen Greek, 'tis said, Which some can't construe, some can't read: But all that comes from Lintot's hand Ev'n Rawlinson might understand. Oft in an Aldus or a Plantin, A page is blotted, or leaf wanting: Of Lintot's books this can't be said, All fair, and not so much as read. Their copy cost 'em not a penny To Homer, Virgil, or to any; They ne'er gave sixpence for two lines To them, their heirs, or their assigns: But Lintot is at vast expense, And pays prodigious dear for — sense. Their books are useful but to few, A scholar, or a wit or two: Lintot's for gen'ral use are fit; For some folks read, but all folks sh—.
* ↑ The Oxford and Cambridge Miscellany.
* ↑ Printers, famous for having published fine editions of the Bible, and of the Greek and Roman classicks.
* ↑ A famous printer.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 17/To Mr. John Moore, Author of the Celebrated Worm Powder

This work was probably written by Alexander Pope. See The Works of Alexander Pope (1995). Wordsworth Edition Ltd. p. 129.
TO MR. JOHN MOORE,
AUTHOR OF THE CELEBRATED WORM-POWDER.
HOW much, egregious Moore, are we Deceiv'd by shows and forms! Whate'er we think, whatever we see, All human kind are worms.
Man is a very worm by birth, Vile, reptile, weak, and vain! A while he crawls upon the earth, Then shrinks to earth again.
That Woman is a worm, we find, E'er since our Grandame's evil, She first conversed with her own kind, That ancient worm, the Devil.
The learn'd themselves we bookworms name, The blockhead is a slowworm; The nymph, whose tail is all on flame, Is aptly termed a glowworm.
The fops are painted butterflies, That flutter for a day; First from a worm they take their rise, And in a worm decay.
The flatterer an earwig grows; Thus worms suit all conditions; Misers are muckworms, silkworms beaus, And deathwatches physicians.
​That statesmen have the worm, is seen By all their winding play; Their conscience is a worm within, That gnaws them night and day.
Ah Moore! thy skill were well employ'd, And greater gain would rise, If thou couldst make the courtier void The worm that never dies!
O learned friend of Abchurch lane, Who sett'st our entrails free! Vain is thy art, thy powder vain, Since worms shall eat ev'n thee!
Our fate thou only canst adjourn Some few short years, no more! Ev'n Button's wits to worms shall turn, Who maggots were before.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 17/To Mrs. Martha Blount, on Her Birthday

This work was probably written by Alexander Pope. See The Works of Alexander Pope (1995). Wordsworth Edition Ltd. p. 127.
TO MRS. MARTHA BLOUNT.
SENT ON HER BIRTHDAY, JUNE 15.
O, be thou blest with all that Heaven can send, Long health, long youth, long pleasure, and a friend! Not with those toys the female race admire, Riches that vex, and vanities that tire; Not as the world its petty slaves rewards, A youth of frolicks, an old age of cards; Fair to no purpose, artful to no end; Young without lovers, old without a friend; A fop their passion, bur their prize a sot; Alive, ridiculous; and dead, forgot! Let joy or ease, let affluence or content, And the gay conscience of a life well spent, Calm ev'ry thought, inspirit ev'ry grace, Glow in thy heart, and smile upon thy face: Let day improve on day, and year on year, Without a pain, a trouble, or a fear; Till Death unfelt that tender frame destroy, In some soft dream, or ecstasy of joy; Peaceful sleep out the sabbath of the tomb, And wake to raptures in a life to come!
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 17/Umbra

This work was probably written by Alexander Pope. See The Works of Alexander Pope (1995). Wordsworth Edition Ltd. p. 363.
UMBRA.
CLOSE to the best known author Umbra sits, The constant index to all Button's wits. "Who's here?" cries Umbra: "only Johnson" — "O! "Your slave," and exit; but returns with Rowe: "Dear Rowe, let's sit and talk of tragedies:" Ere long Pope enters, and to Pope he flies. Then up comes Steele: he turns upon his heel, And in a moment fastens upon Steele; But cries as soon, "Dear Dick, I must be gone, For, if I know his tread, here's Addison." Says Addison to Steele, "'Tis time to go:" Pope to the closet steps aside with Rowe. Poor Umbra, left in this abandon'd pickle, E'en sits him down, and writes to honest Tickell. Fool! 'tis in vain from wit to wit to roam; Know, sense like charity "begins at home."