OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/I have not told my garden yet

                VIII.
I HAVE not told my garden yet,
Lest that should conquer me;
I have not quite the strength now
To break it to the bee.
I will not name it in the street,
For shops would stare, that I,
So shy, so very ignorant,
Should have the face to die.
The hillsides must not know it,
Where I have rambled so,
Nor tell the loving forests
The day that I shall go,
Nor lisp it at the table,
Nor heedless by the way
Hint that within the riddle
One will walk to-day!
# Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/Heart not so heavy as mine

XLVI.
HEART not so heavy as mine, Wending late home, As it passed my window Whistled itself a tune, —
A careless snatch, a ballad, A ditty of the street; Yet to my irritated ear An anodyne so sweet,
It was as if a bobolink, Sauntering this way, Carolled and mused and carolled, Then bubbled slow away.
It was as if a chirping brook Upon a toilsome way Set bleeding feet to minuets Without the knowing why.
To-morrow, night will come again, Weary, perhaps, and sore. Ah, bugle, by my window, I pray you stroll once more!
# Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/I'm nobody! Who are you?

I.
LIFE.
POEMS.
I.
I'M nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there's a pair of us—don't tell! They'd banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!
# Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/I have no life but this

II.
I HAVE no life but this, To lead it here; Nor any death, but lest Dispelled from there;
Nor tie to earths to come, Nor action new, Except through this extent, The realm of you.
# Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/Hope

VI. HOPE.
HOPE is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
# Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/I bring an unaccustomed wine

II.
I BRING an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching, next to mine, And summon them to drink.
Crackling with fever, they essay; I turn my brimming eyes away, And come next hour to look.
The hands still hug the tardy glass; The lips I would have cooled, alas! Are so superfluous cold,
I would as soon attempt to warm The bosoms where the frost has lain Ages beneath the mould.
Some other thirsty there may be To whom this would have pointed me Had it remained to speak.
And so I always bear the cup If, haply, mine may be the drop Some pilgrim thirst to slake,—
If, haply, any say to me, "Unto the little, unto me," When I at last awake.
# Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/I gained it so

LI.
I GAINED it so, By climbing slow, By catching at the twigs that grow Between the bliss and me. It hung so high, As well the sky Attempt by strategy.
I said I gained it, — This was all. Look, how I clutch it, Lest it fall, And I a pauper go; Unfitted by an instant's grace For the contented beggar's face I wore an hour ago.
# Poems on Various Subjects (Coleridge)/Effusion 32, The Sigh

EFFUSION XXXII.
THE SIGH.
WHEN Youth his faery reign began Ere Sorrow had proclaim'd me man; While Peace the present hour beguil'd, And all the lovely Prospect smil'd; Then, Mary! 'mid my lightsome glee I heav'd the painless Sigh for thee!
And when, along the waves of woe, My harass'd Heart was doom'd to know The frantic Burst of Outrage keen, And the slow Pang that gnaws unseen; Then shipwreck'd on Life's stormy sea I heav'd an anguish'd Sigh for thee!
But soon Reflection's power imprest A stiller sadness on my breast; And sickly Hope with waning eye Was well content to droop and die: I yielded to the stern decree, Yet heav'd a languid Sigh for thee!
And tho' in distant climes to roam, A Wanderer from my native home, I fain would sooth the sense of Care And lull to sleep the Joys, that were! Thy Image may not banish'd be—— Still, Mary! still I sigh for thee.
JUNE, 1794.
# Poems on Various Subjects (Coleridge)/Effusion 33, to a Young Ass

To a Young Ass was composed by Samuel Taylor Coleridge in 1794. It describes Coleridge's sympathies for animals and the connection to nature he felt as part of his idea of Pantisocracy. It was later used by critics as a means to mock him. Warning: template has been deprecated. First published in the Morning Chronicle, 30th December, 1794
EFFUSION XXXIII.
TO
A YOUNG ASS,
IT'S MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT.
POOR little Foal of an oppressed Race! I love the languid Patience of thy face: And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread, And clap thy ragged Coat, and pat thy head. But what thy dulled Spirits hath dismay'd. That never thou dost sport along the glade? And (most unlike the nature of things young) That earth-ward still thy moveless head is hung? Do thy prophetic Fears anticipate, Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate?—
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches "Which patient Merit of th' Unworthy takes?" Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain To see thy wretched Mother's shorten'd Chain? And truly, very piteous is her Lot—— Chain'd to a Log within a narrow spot Where the close-eaten Grass is scarcely seen, While sweet around her waves the tempting Green! Poor Ass! her Master should have learnt to shew Pity—best taught by fellowship of woe! For much I fear, that He lives, ev'n as she, Half-famish'd in a land of luxury!
How askingly It's footsteps t'ward me bend? It seems to say, "And have I then one Friend?" Innocent Foal! thou poor despis'd Forlorn! I hail thee Brother—spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell, Where Toil—shall call the charmer Health his Bride, And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side! How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play, And frisk about, as Lamb or Kitten gay! Yea! and more musically sweet to me Thy dissonant harsh Bray of Joy would be, Than warbled Melodies that sooth to rest The tumult of some scoundrel Monarch's breast!
# Poems on Various Subjects (Coleridge)/Effusion 27

EFFUSION XXVII.
AS late each flower that sweetest blows I pluck'd, the Garden's pride! Within the petals of a Rose A sleeping Love I 'spied.
Around his brows a beamy wreath Of many a lucent hue; All purple glow'd his cheek, beneath, Inebriate with the dew.
I softly seiz'd th' unguarded Power, Nor scar'd his balmy rest; And plac'd him, cag'd within the flower, On spotless Sara's breast.
But when unweeting of the guile Awoke the pris'ner sweet, He struggled to escape awhile And stamp'd his færy feet.
Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight Subdued th' impatient boy! He gaz'd! he thrill'd with deep delight! Then clapp'd his wings for Joy.
And ô! he cried—"Of magic kind "What charms this Throne endear! Some other Love let Venus find—— I'll fix my empire here."
# Poems on Various Subjects (Coleridge)/Effusion 3, to Mercy

To Pitt was written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge and published in the 26 December 1794 Morning Chronicle as part of the Sonnets on Eminent Characters series. Describing William Pitt the Younger and his role as Prime Minister of Great Britain, the poem is one of the few in the series that is not about a hero of Coleridge. Instead, Pitt is described as Judas, the betrayer of Christ, because of, among other issues, his treatment of political dissidents. Warning: template has been deprecated.
EFFUSION III.
NOT always should the tear's ambrosial dew Roll its soft anguish down thy furrow'd cheek! Not always heaven-breath'd tones of suppliance meek Beseem thee, Mercy! Yon dark Scowler view, Who with proud words of dear-lov'd Freedom came— More blasting, than the mildew from the South! And kiss'd his country with Iscariot mouth (Ah! foul apostate from his Father's fame!) Then fix'd her on the cross of deep distress, And at safe distance marks the thirsty lance Pierce her big side! But ô! if some strange trance The eye-lids of thy stern-brow'd Sister press, Seize, Mercy! thou more terrible the brand, And hurl her thunderbolts with fiercer hand!
# Poems on Various Subjects (Coleridge)/Effusion 30, Complaint of Ninathoma

EFFUSION XXX.
THE
COMPLAINT OF NINATHOMA.
HOW long will ye round me be swelling, O ye blue-tumbling waves of the Sea? Not always in Caves was my dwelling, Nor beneath the cold blast of the Tree. Thro' the high-founding hills of Cathlóma In the steps of my Beauty I stray'd; The Warriors beheld Ninathóma, And they blessed the white-bosom'd Maid!
A Ghost! by my Cavern it darted! In moon-beams the Spirit was drest— For lovely appear the departed When they visit the dreams of my Rest! But disturb'd by the Tempest's commotion Fleet the shadowy forms of Delight— Ah cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean! To howl thro' my Cavern by Night.
# Poems on Various Subjects (Coleridge)/Effusion 31, from the Welsh

EFFUSION XXXI.
IMITATED
FROM THE WELCH.
IF, while my passion I impart, You deem my words untrue, O place your hand upon my heart—— Feel how it throbs for you!
Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim In pity to your Lover! That thrilling touch would aid the flame, It wishes to discover.
# Poems on Various Subjects (Coleridge)/Effusion 34, to an Infant

EFFUSION XXXIV.
TO AN INFANT.
AH cease thy Tears and Sobs, my little Life! I did but snatch away the unclasp'd Knife: Some safer Toy will soon arrest thine eye And to quick Laughter change this peevish cry! Poor Stumbler on the rocky coast of Woe, Tutor'd by Pain each source of Pain to know! Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire Awake thy eager grasp and young desire: Alike the Good, the Ill offend thy sight, And rouse the stormy Sense of shrill Affright! Untaught, yet wise! mid all thy brief alarms Thou closely clingest to thy Mother's arms, Nestling thy little face in that fond breast Whose anxious Heavings lull thee to thy rest!
Man's breathing Miniature! thou mak'st me sigh— A Babe art thou—and such a Thing am I! To anger rapid and as soon appeas'd, For trifles mourning and by trifles pleas'd, Break Friendship's Mirror with a tetchy blow, Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's altar glow!
O thou that rearest with celestial aim The future Seraph in my mortal frame, Thrice holy Faith! whatever thorns I meet As on I totter with unpractis'd feet, Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee, Meek Nurse of Souls thro' their long Infancy!
# Poems on Various Subjects (Coleridge)/Effusion 28

EFFUSION XXVIII.
ONE kiss, dear Maid! I said and sigh'd—
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss?
Can danger lurk within a kiss?
Yon viewless Wand'rer of the vale,
The Spirit of the Western Gale,
At Morning's break, at Evening's close
Inhales the sweetness of the Rose,
And hovers o'er th' uninjur'd Bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigor to the Zephyr's wing
Her nectar-breathing Kisses fling;
And He the glitter of the Dew
Scatters on the Rose's hue.
Bashful lo! she bends her head, And darts a blush of deeper Red!
Too well those lovely lips disclose The Triumphs of the op'ning Rose: O fair! O graceful! bid them prove As passive to the breath of Love. In tender accents, faint and low, Well-pleas'd I hear the whisper'd "No!" The whisper'd "No"——how little meant! Sweet Falsehood, that endears Consent! For on those lovely lips the while Dawns the soft relenting smile, And tempts with feign'd dissuasion coy The gentle violence of Joy.
# Poems on Various Subjects (Coleridge)/Effusion 29, Imitated from Ossian

EFFUSION XXIX.
IMITATED
FROM OSSIAN.
THE stream with languid murmur creeps,
In Lumin's flowery vale:
Beneath the dew the Lily weeps
Slow-waving to the gale.   "Cease, restless gale! it seems to say
Nor wake me with thy sighing!
The honors of my vernal day
On rapid wing are flying.
To morrow shall the Trav'ller come Who late beheld me blooming:
His searching eye shall vainly roam The dreary vale of Lumin."
With eager gaze and wetted cheek
My wonted haunts along,
Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek
The Youth of simplest song.
But I along the breeze shall roll
The voice of feeble power;
And dwell, the Moon-beam of thy soul, In Slumber's nightly hour.
# Poems on Various Subjects (Coleridge)/Effusion 26, on a Kiss

EFFUSION XXVI.
CUPID, if storying Legends tell aright, Once fram'd a rich Elixir of Delight. A Chalice o'er love-kindled flames he fix'd, And in it Nectar and Ambrosia mix'd: With these the magic dews, which Evening brings, Brush'd from the Idalian star by faery wings: Each tender pledge of sacred Faith he join'd, Each gentler Pleasure of th' unspotted mind— Day-dreams, whose tints with sportive brightness glow And Hope, the blameless Parasite of Woe. The eyeless Chemist heard the process rife, The steamy Chalice bubbled up in sighs; Sweet sounds transpir'd, as when the enamour'd Dove Pours the soft murm'ring of responsive Love.
The finished work might Envy vainly blame,
And "Kisses" was the precious Compounds' name.
With half the God his Cyprian Mother blest,
And breath'd on Sara's lovelier lips the rest.
# Pollyanna/Chapter 31

CHAPTER XXXI A NEW UNCLE
The next time Dr. Warren entered the chamber where Pollyanna lay watching the dancing shimmer of color on the ceiling, a tall, broad-shouldered man followed close behind him.
"Dr. Chilton!—oh, Dr. Chilton, how glad I am to see you!" cried Pollyanna. And at the joyous rapture of the voice, more than one pair of eyes in the room brimmed hot with sudden tears. "But of course, if Aunt Polly doesn't want—"
"It is all right, my dear; don't worry," soothed Miss Polly, agitatedly, hurrying forward. "I have told Dr. Chilton that—that I want him to look you over—with Dr. Warren, this morning."
"Oh, then you asked him to come," murmured Pollyanna, contentedly.
"Yes, dear, I asked him. That is—" But it was too late. The adoring happiness that had leaped to Dr. Chilton's eyes was unmistakable, and Miss Polly had seen it. With very pink cheeks she turned and left the room hurriedly.
Over in the window the nurse and Dr. Warren ​were talking earnestly. Dr. Chilton held out both his hands to Pollyanna.
"Little girl, I'm thinking that one of the very gladdest jobs you ever did has been done to-day," he said in a voice shaken with emotion.
At twilight a wonderfully tremulous, wonderfully different Aunt Polly crept to Pollyanna's bedside. The nurse was at supper. They had the room to themselves.
"Pollyanna, dear, I'm going to tell you—the very first one of all. Some day I'm going to give Dr. Chilton to you for your—uncle. And it's you that have done it all. Oh, Pollyanna, I'm so—happy! And so—glad!—darling!"
Pollyanna began to clap her hands; but even as she brought her small palms together the first time, she stopped, and held them suspended.
"Aunt Polly, Aunt Polly, were you the woman's hand and heart he wanted so long ago? You were—I know you were! And that's what he meant by saying I'd done the gladdest job of all—to-day. I'm so glad! Why, Aunt Polly, I don't know but I'm so glad that I don't mind—even my legs, now!"
Aunt Polly swallowed a sob.
"Perhaps, some day, dear—" But Aunt Polly did not finish. Aunt Polly did not dare to tell, yet, the great hope that Dr. Chilton had put into her ​heart. But she did say this—and surely this was quite wonderful enough—to Pollyanna's mind:
"Pollyanna, next week you're going to take a journey. On a nice comfortable little bed you're going to be carried in cars and carriages to a great doctor who has a big house many miles from here made on purpose for just such people as you are. He's a dear friend of Dr. Chilton's, and we're going to see what he can do for you!"
# Pollyanna/Chapter 32

CHAPTER XXXII WHICH IS A LETTER FROM POLLYANNA
"Dear Aunt Polly and Uncle Tom:—Oh, I can—I can—I can walk! I did to-day all the way from my bed to the window. It was six steps. My, how good it was to be on legs again!
"All the doctors stood around and smiled, and all the nurses stood beside of them and cried. A lady in the next ward who walked last week first, peeked into the door, and another one who hopes she can walk next month, was invited in to the party, and she laid on my nurse's bed and clapped her hands. Even Black Tilly who washes the floor, looked through the piazza window, and called me 'Honey, child' when she wasn't crying too much to call me anything.
"I don't see why they cried. I wanted to sing and shout and yell! Oh—oh—oh! Just think, I can walk—walk—walk! Now I don't mind being here almost ten months, and I didn't miss the wedding, anyhow. Wasn't that just like you, Aunt Polly, to come on here and get married right beside ​my bed, so I could see you. You always do think of the gladdest things!
"Pretty soon, they say, I shall go home. I wish I could walk all the way there. I do. I don't think I shall ever want to ride anywhere any more. It will be so good just to walk. Oh, I'm so glad! I'm glad for everything. Why, I'm glad now I lost my legs for a while, for you never, never know how perfectly lovely legs are till you haven't got them—that go, I mean. I'm going to walk eight steps tomorrow.
"With heaps of love to everybody, "Pollyanna."
THE END.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/Buttercups and Daisies

Buttercups and Daisies.
Buttercups and daisies, Oh, the pretty flowers, Coming ere the spring time, To tell of sunny hours. ​While the trees are leafless, While the fields are bare, Buttercups and daisies Spring up here and there.
Ere the snowdrop peepeth, Ere the crocus bold, Ere the early primrose Opes its paly gold, Somewhere on the sunny bank Buttercups are bright; Somewhere 'mong the frozen grass Peeps the daisy white.
Little hardy flowers, Like to children poor, Playing in their sturdy health By their mother's door, Purple with the north wind, Yet alert and bold; Fearing not, and caring not, Though they be a-cold!
What to them is winter! What are stormy showers! Buttercups and daisies Are these human flowers! He who gave them hardships And a life of care, Gave them likewise hardy strength And patient hearts to bear.
Mary Howitt.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/Columbus

Columbus.
We are greatly indebted to Joaquin Miller for his "Sail On! Sail On!" Endurance is the watchword of the poem and the watchword of our republic. Every man to his gun! Columbus discovered America in his own mind before he realised it or proved its existence. I have often drawn a chart of Columbus's life and voyages to show what need he had of the motto "Sail On!" to accomplish his end. This is one of our greatest American poems. The writer still lives in California.
Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the gates of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. ​The good mate said: "Now must we pray, For lo! the very stars are gone; Speak, Admiral, what shall I say?" "Why say, sail on! and on!"
"My men grow mut'nous day by day; My men grow ghastly wan and weak." The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave wash'd his swarthy cheek. "What shall I say, brave Admiral, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" "Why, you shall say, at break of day: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'"
They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanch'd mate said; "Why, now, not even God would know Should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas is gone. Now speak, brave Admiral, and say——" He said: "Sail on! and on!"
They sailed, they sailed, then spoke his mate: "This mad sea shows his teeth to-night, He curls his lip, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth as if to bite! Brave Admiral, say but one word; What shall we do when hope is gone?" The words leaped as a leaping sword: "Sail on! sail on! and on!"
Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, And thro' the darkness peered that night ​Ah, darkest night! and then a speck— A light! a light! a light! a light! It grew—a star-lit flag unfurled! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn; He gained a world! he gave that world Its watch- word: "On! and on!"
Joaquin Miller.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/Barbara Frietchie

Barbara Frietchie.
"Barbara Frietchie" will be beloved of all times because she was an old woman (not necessarily an old lady) worthy of her years. Old age is honourable if it carries a head that has a halo. (1807-92.)
Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach tree fruited deep,
Fair as the garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,
On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee marched over the mountain-wall,
​Over the mountains winding down, Horse and foot, into Frederick town.
Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars,
Flapped in the morning wind: the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her fourscore years and ten,
Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down.
In her attic window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet.
Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
Under his slouched hat left and right He glanced: the old flag met his sight.
"Halt!"—the dust-brown ranks stood fast "Fire!"—out blazed the rifle-blast.
It shivered the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash.
Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf.
​She leaned far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will.
"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country's flag," she said.
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came;
The nobler nature within him stirred To life at that woman's deed and word:
"Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.
All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet:
All day long that free flag tost Over the heads of the rebel host.
Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well;
And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night.
Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, And the rebel rides on his raids no more.
Honour to her! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.
​Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!
Peace and order and beauty draw Round thy symbol of light and law;
And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town!
John G. Whittier.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/Barnacles

Barnacles.
"Barnacles" (by Sidney Lanier, 1842-81) is a poem that I teach in connection with my lessons on natural history. We have a good specimen of a barnacle, and the children see them on the shells on the coast. The ethical point is invaluable.
My soul is sailing through the sea, But the Past is heavy and hindereth me. The Past hath crusted cumbrous shells That hold the flesh of cold sea-mells About my soul. The huge waves wash, the high waves roll, Each barnacle clingeth and worketh dole And hindereth me from sailing!
​Old Past, let go, and drop i' the sea Till fathomless waters cover thee! For I am living, but thou art dead; Thou drawest back, I strive ahead The Day to find. Thy shells unbind! Night comes behind; I needs must hurry with the wind And trim me best for sailing.
Sidney Lanier.