OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems by Isaac Rosenberg/The Tower of Skulls

III
THE TOWER OF SKULLS
Mourners
These layers of piled-up skulls, These layers of gleaming horror—stark horror! Ah me! Through my thin hands they touch my eyes.
Everywhere, everywhere is a pregnant birth, And here in death's land is a pregnant birth. Your own crying is less mortal Than the amazing soul in your body. Your own crying yon parrot takes up And from your empty skull cries it afterwards.
Thou whose dark activities unenchanted Days from gyrating days, suspending them To thrust them far from sight, from the gyrating days Which have gone widening on and left us here, Cast derelicts lost for ever.
When aged flesh looks down on tender brood For he knows between his thin ribs' walls The giant universe, the interminable Panorama—synods, myths and creeds, He knows his dust is fire and seed.
# Poems by Isaac Rosenberg/The Nun

THE NUN
So thy soul's meekness shrinks, Too loth to show her face— Why should she shun the world? It is a holy place.
Concealed to itself If the flower kept its scent, Of itself amorous, Less rich its ornament.
Use—utmost in each kind— Is beauty, truth in one, While soul rays light to soul In one God-linked sun.
# Poems by Isaac Rosenberg/The Song of Tel the Nubian

II
THE SONG OF TEL THE NUBIAN
Small dazzling face! I shut you in my soul; How can I perish now?
But thence a strange decay— Your fragile gleaming wrists Waver my days and shake my life To golden tremors. I have no life at all, Only thin golden tremors That shudder over the abyss of days Which hedged my spirit, my spirit your prison walls That shrunk like phantasms with your vivid beauty—
Towering and widening till The sad moonless place Throngs with a million torches And spears of flaming wings.
# Poems by Isaac Rosenberg/The Dying Soldier

THE DYING SOLDIER
"Here are houses," he moaned, "I could reach, but my brain swims." Then they thundered and flashed, And shook the earth to its rims.
"They are gunpits," he gasped,
"Our men are at the guns. Water!... Water!... Oh, water! For one of England's dying sons."
"We cannot give you water, Were all England in your breath." "Water!... Water!... Oh, water!" He moaned and swooned to death.
# Poems by Isaac Rosenberg/The Female God

THE FEMALE GOD
We curl into your eyes— They drink our fires and have never drained; In the fierce forest of your hair Our desires beat blindly for their treasure.
In your eyes' subtle pit, Far down, glimmer our souls; And your hair like massive forest trees Shadows our pulses, overtired and dumb.
Like a candle lost in an electric glare Our spirits tread your eyes' infinities; In the wrecking waves of your tumultuous locks Do you not hear the moaning of our pulses?
Queen! Goddess! Animal! In sleep do your dreams battle with our souls? When your hair is spread like a lover on the pillow Do not our jealous pulses wake between?
You have dethroned the ancient God, You have usurped his Sabbath, his common days; Yea, every moment is delivered to you, Our Temple, our Eternal, our one God!
Our souls have passed into your eyes, Our days into your hair; And you, our rose-deaf prison, are very pleased with the world, Your world.
# Poems by Isaac Rosenberg/The One Lost

THE ONE LOST
I mingle with your bones; You steal in subtle noose This lighted dust Jehovah loans And now I lose.
What will the Lender say When I shall not be found, Safe-sheltered at the Judgment Day, Being in you bound?
He'll hunt through wards of Heaven, Call to uncoffined earth "Where is this soul, unjudged, not given Dole for good's dearth?"
And I, lying so safe Within you, hearing all, To have cheated God shall laugh, Freed by your thrall.
# Poems by Isaac Rosenberg/The Immortals

THE IMMORTALS
I killed them, but they would not die.
Yea, all the day and all the night
For them I could not rest nor sleep,
Nor guard from them nor hide in flight!
Then in my agony I turned
And made my hands red in their gore.
In vain—for faster than I slew
They rose more cruel than before.
I killed and killed with slaughter mad;
I killed till all my strength was gone;
And still they rose to torture me,
For Devils only die for fun.
I used to think the Devil hid
In women's smiles and wine's carouse;
I called him Satan, Balzebub;
But now I call him dirty louse.
# Poems by Isaac Rosenberg/The Jew

THE JEW
Moses, from whose loins I sprung, Lit by a lamp in his blood Ten immutable rules, a moon For mutable lampless men.
The blonde, the bronze, the ruddy, With the same heaving blood, Keep tide to the moon of Moses. Then why do they sneer at me?
# Poems by Isaac Rosenberg/The Troop Ship

THE TROOP SHIP
Grotesque and queerly huddled
Contortionists to twist
The sleepy soul to a sleep,
We lie all sorts of ways
And cannot sleep.
The wet wind is so cold,
And the lurching men so careless,
That, should you drop to a doze,
Winds’ fumble or men's feet
Are on your face.
# Poems by Isaac Rosenberg/Wedded

WEDDED
They leave their love-lorn haunts, Their sigh-warm floating Eden; And they are mute at once, Mortals by God unheeden, By their past kisses chidden.
But they have kist and known Clear things we dim by guesses— Spirit to spirit grown: Heaven, born in hand-caresses. Love, fall from sheltering tresses.
And they are dumb and strange: Bared trees bowed from each other. Their last green interchange What lost dreams shall discover? Dead, strayed, to love-strange lover.
# Poems of Experience/England, Awake!

A beautiful great lady, past her prime,  Behold her dreaming in her easy chair;  Gray robed, and veiled; in laces old and rare, Her smiling eyes see but the vanished time, Of splendid prowess, and of deeds sublime.  Self satisfied she sits, all unaware  That peace has flown before encroaching care, And through her halls stalks hunger, linked with crime.
England, awake! from dreams of what has been,  Look on what is, and put the past away. Speak to your sons, until they understand. England, awake! for dreaming now is sin;  In all your ancient wisdom, rise to-day, And save the glory of your menaced land.
# Poems of Experience/Fiction and Fact

In books I read, how men have lived and died,  With hopeless love deep in their bosoms hidden. While she for whom they long in secret sighed,  Went on her way, nor guessed this flame unbidden.
In real life, I never chanced to see  The woman who was loved, and did not know it, And observation proves this fact to me:  No man can love a woman and not show it.
# Poems of Experience/How the White Rose Came

The roses all were pink and red, Before the Bumble Bee, A lover bold, with cloak of gold, Came singing merrily Along the sunlit ways that led From woodland, and from lea.
He paused beside an opening rose, The garden’s pet and pride; She burst in flower that very hour, While wooing zephyrs sighed; No smile had she for one of those, And hope within them died.
The ardent butterfly in vain On radiant wings drew near; The hapless moth in vain grew wroth - The fair rose leaned to hear The deep-voiced stranger’s low refrain That thrilled upon her ear.
She gave her heart in love’s delight And let the whole world see; Alas! one day, away, away, Sped truant Bumble Bee; ’Twas then the red rose turned to white - So was the tale told me.
# Poems of Experience/I know not

Death! I know not what room you are abiding in,  But I will go my way,  Rejoicing day by day,  Nor will I flee or stay For fear I tread the path you may be hiding in.
Death! I know not, if my small barque be nearing you;  But if you are at sea,  Still there my sails float free;  ‘What is to be will be.’ Nor will I mar the happy voyage by fearing you.
Death! I know not, what hour or spot you wait for me;  My days untroubled flow,  Just trusting on, I go,  For oh, I know, I know, Death is but Life that holds some glad new fate for me.
# Poems of Experience/Keep Going

Is the goal distant, and troubled the road,  And the way long?  And heavy your load? Then gird up your courage, and say ‘I am strong,’  And keep going.
Is the work weary, and endless the grind  And petty the pay?  Then brace up your mind And say ‘Something better is coming my way,’  And keep doing.
Is the drink bitter life pours in your cup -  Is the taste gall?  Then smile and look up And say ‘God is with me whatever befall,’  And keep trusting.
Is the heart heavy with hope long deferred,  And with prayers that seem vain?  Keep saying the word - And that which you strive for you yet shall attain.  Keep praying.
# Poems of Experience/Be not attached

‘Be not attached.’ So runs the great command For those who seek to ‘know’ and ‘understand.’ Who sounds the waters of the deeper sea Must first draw up his anchor and go free.
But not for me, that knowledge. I must wait Until again I enter through life’s gate. I am not brave enough to sail away To farther seas, and leave this beauteous bay.
Love barnacled, my anchor lies; and oh! I would not lift it if I could, and go All unattached, to find those truths which lie Far out at sea, beneath a lonely sky.
Though peace of heart, and happiness of soul, Await the seeker at that farther goal, With love and all its rapture and its pain, Close to the shores of earth I must remain.
Nor yet would I relinquish my sweet dream To gain possession of the Fact supreme. I am attached, and well content to stay, Learning such truths as love may send my way.
# Poems of Experience/Christ Crucified

Now ere I slept, my prayer had been that I might see my way To do the will of Christ, our Lord and Master, day by day; And with this prayer upon my lips, I knew not that I dreamed, But suddenly the world of night a pandemonium seemed. From forest, and from slaughter house, from bull ring, and from stall, There rose an anguished cry of pain, a loud, appealing call; As man - the dumb beast’s next of kin - with gun, and whip, and knife, Went pleasure-seeking through the earth, blood-bent on taking life. From trap, and cage, and house, and zoo, and street, that awful strain Of tortured creatures rose and swelled the orchestra of pain. And then methought the gentle Christ appeared to me, and spoke: ‘I called you, but ye answered not’ - and in my fear I woke.
Then next I heard the roar of mills; and moving through the noise, Like phantoms in an underworld, were little girls and boys. Their backs were bent, their brows were pale, their eyes were sad and old; But by the labour of their hands greed added gold to gold. Again the Presence and the Voice: ‘Behold the crimes I see, As ye have done it unto these, so have ye done to me.’
Again I slept. I seemed to climb a hard, ascending track; And just behind me laboured one whose patient face was black. I pitied him; but hour by hour he gained upon the path; He stood beside me, stood upright - and then I turned in wrath. ‘Go back!’ I cried. ‘What right have you to walk beside me here? For you are black, and I am white.’ I paused, struck dumb with fear. For lo! the black man was not there, but Christ stood in his place; And oh! the pain, the pain, the pain that looked from that dear face.
Now when I woke, the air was rife with that sweet, rhythmic din Which tells the world that Christ has come to save mankind from sin. And through the open door of church and temple passed a throng, To worship Him with bended knee, with sermon, and with song. But over all I heard the cry of hunted, mangled things; Those creatures which are part of God, though they have hoofs and wings. I saw in mill, and mine, and shop, the little slaves of greed; I heard the strife of race with race, all sprung from one God-seed. And then I bowed my head in shame, and in contrition cried - ‘Lo, after nineteen hundred years, Christ still is Crucified.’
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 of Experience/Father

He never made a fortune, or a noise In the world where men are seeking after fame; But he had a healthy brood of girls and boys Who loved the very ground on which he trod. They thought him just a little short of God; Oh you should have heard the way they said his name -  ‘Father.’
There seemed to be a loving little prayer In their voices, even when they called him ‘Dad.’ Though the man was never heard of anywhere, As a hero, yet you somehow understood He was doing well his part and making good; And you knew it, by the way his children had  Of saying ‘Father.’
He gave them neither eminence nor wealth, But he gave them blood untainted with a vice, And the opulence of undiluted health. He was honest, and unpurchable and kind; He was clean in heart, and body, and in mind. So he made them heirs to riches without price -  This father.
He never preached or scolded; and the rod - Well, he used it as a turning pole in play. But he showed the tender sympathy of God To his children in their troubles, and their joys. He was always chum and comrade with his boys, And his daughters - oh, you ought to hear them say  ‘Father.’
Now I think of all achievements ’tis the least To perpetuate the species; it is done By the insect and the serpent, and the beast. But the man who keeps his body, and his thought, Worth bestowing on an offspring love-begot, Then the highest earthly glory he has won, When in pride a grown-up daughter or a son  Says ‘That’s Father.’
# Poems of Experience/I look to Science

I look to Science for the cure of Crime; To patient righting of a thousand wrongs; To final healing of a thousand ills. Blind runner now, and cruel egotist It yet leads on to more than mortal sight, And the large knowledge that means humbleness, And tender love for all created things.
I look to Science for the Coming Race Growing from seed selected; and from soil Love fertilised; and pruned by wisdom’s hand, Till out of mortal man spring demi-gods, Strong primal creatures with awakened souls And normal passions, governed by the will, Leaving a trail of glory where they tread.
I look to Science for the growth of faith. That bold denier of accepted creeds - That mighty doubter of accepted truths - Shall yet reveal God’s secrets to the world, And prove the facts it seeks to overthrow. And a new name shall Science henceforth bear - The Great Religion of the Universe.
# Poems of Experience/If Christ came Questioning

If Christ came questioning His world to-day, (If Christ came questioning,) ‘What hast thou done to glorify thy God, Since last My feet this lower earth plane trod?’ How could I answer Him; and in what way One evidence of my allegiance bring; If Christ came questioning.
If Christ came questioning, to me alone, (If Christ came questioning,) I could not point to any church or shrine And say, ‘I helped build up this house of Thine; Behold the altar, and the corner stone’; I could not show one proof of such a thing; If Christ came questioning.
If Christ came questioning, on His demand, (If Christ came questioning,) No pagan soul converted to His creed Could I proclaim; or say, that word or deed Of mine, had spread the faith in any land; Or sent it forth, to fly on stronger wing; If Christ came questioning.
If Christ came questioning the soul of me, (If Christ came questioning,) I could but answer, ‘Lord, my little part Has been to beat the metal of my heart, Into the shape I thought most fit for Thee; And at Thy feet, to cast the offering; Shouldst Thou come questioning.
‘From out the earth-fed furnaces of desire, (Ere Thou cam’st questioning,) This formless and unfinished gift I brought, And on life’s anvil flung it down, white hot: A glowing thing, of selfishness and fire, With blow on blow, I made the anvil ring; (Ere Thou cam’st questioning).
‘The hammer, Self-Control, beat hard on it; (Ere Thou cam’st questioning,) And with each blow, rose fiery sparks of pain; I bear their scars, on body, soul, and brain. Long, long I toiled; and yet, dear Lord, unfit, And all unworthy, is the heart I bring, To meet Thy questioning.’
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/The Waterfall

THE WATERFALL
A patch of meadow upland Reached by a mile of road, Soothed by the voice of waters, With birds and flowers bestowed.
Hither I come for strength Which well it can supply, For Love draws might from terrene force And potencies of sky.
​The tremulous battery Earth Responds to the touch of man; It thrills to the antipodes, From Boston to Japan.
The planets' child the planet knows And to his joy replies; To the lark's trill unfolds the rose, Clouds flush their gayest dyes.
When Ali prayed and loved Where Syrian waters roll, Upward the ninth heaven thrilled and moved At the tread of the jubilant soul.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/The days pass over me

The days pass over me And I am still the same; The aroma of my life is gone With the flower with which it came.
1833.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Thought

THOUGHT
I am not poor, but I am proud, Of one inalienable right, Above the envy of the crowd,— Thought's holy light.
Better it is than gems or gold, And oh! it cannot die, But thought will glow when the sun grows cold, And mix with Deity.
Boston, 1823.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/The Walk

THE WALK
A queen rejoices in her peers, And wary Nature knows her own By court and city, dale and down, And like a lover volunteers, And to her son will treasures more And more to purpose freely pour In one wood walk, than learned men Can find with glass in ten times ten.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Thine Eyes still Shined

THINE EYES STILL SHINED
Thine eyes still shined for me, though far I lonely roved the land or sea: As I behold yon evening star, Which yet beholds not me.
This morn I climbed the misty hill And roamed the pastures through; How danced thy form before my path Amidst the deep-eyed dew!
When the redbird spread his sable wing, And showed his side of flame; When the rosebud ripened to the rose, In both I read thy name.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/To-Day

TO-DAY
I rake no coffined clay, nor publish wide The resurrection of departed pride. Safe in their ancient crannies, dark and deep, Let kings and conquerors, saints and soldiers sleep— Late in the world,—too late perchance for fame, Just late enough to reap abundant blame,— I choose a novel theme, a bold abuse Of critic charters, an unlaurelled Muse.
Old mouldy men and books and names and lands Disgust my reason and defile my hands. I had as lief respect an ancient shoe, As love old things for age, and hate the new. I spurn the Past, my mind disdains its nod, Nor kneels in homage to so mean a God. ​I laugh at those who, while they gape and gaze, The bald antiquity of China praise. Youth is (whatever cynic tubs pretend) The fault that boys and nations soonest mend.
1824.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/To Ellen

TO ELLEN
And Ellen, when the graybeard years Have brought us to life's evening hour, And all the crowded Past appears A tiny scene of sun and shower,
​Then, if I read the page aright Where Hope, the soothsayer, reads our lot, Thyself shalt own the page was bright, Well that we loved, woe had we not,
When Mirth is dumb and Flattery's fled, And mute thy music's dearest tone, When all but Love itself is dead And all but deathless Reason gone.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/The Visit

THE VISIT
Askest, 'How long thou shalt stay?' Devastator of the day! Know, each substance and relation, Thorough nature's operation, Hath its unit, bound and metre; And every new compound Is some product and repeater,— Product of the earlier found. But the unit of the visit, The encounter of the wise,— Say, what other metre is it Than the meeting of the eyes? Nature poureth into nature Through the channels of that feature, Riding on the ray of sight, Fleeter far than whirlwinds go, Or for service, or delight, Hearts to hearts their meaning show, Sum their long experience, And import intelligence. Single look has drained the breast; Single moment years confessed. The duration of a glance Is the term of convenance, ​And, though thy rede be church or state, Frugal multiples of that. Speeding Saturn cannot halt; Linger,—thou shalt rue the fault: If Love his moment overstay, Hatred's swift repulsions play.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Forget Me Not, 1824/Lines on the Mausoleum of the Princess Charlotte, at Claremont

This is taken from the review of the Forget Me Not in The Literary Gazette, 1st November 1823.
Forget Me not; a Christmas and New Year's Present for 1824. London. R. Ackermann.
Our own delightful minstrel, L. E. L. has been kind enough to enrich this annual gift with two voluntary offerings, to which the publisher has paid the merited compliment of having plates engraved from their subjects. Though many have gone before her on the theme, we quote the following exquisitely natural and poetical tribute on the Mausoleum of the Princess Charlotte at Claremont—
Lines on the Mausoleum of the Princess Charlotte,
at Claremont.
Alas! how many storm-clouds hang O'er every sunny day below!
How many flowers die as they bloom!
How many more before they blow!
But fall the blight, or lour the blast,
O'er every other pleasure here If they would leave untouched that one Of all earth's joys most pure and dear!
Young Love! how well thy smile can cheer
All other ills that wring the heart? All other sorrows may we bear,
But those in which thyself hast part.
And is not this thy worst, of griefs—
Thine uttermost despair—to see
The grave close over the fond heart
Just wakened into life by thee?
To watch the blight steal o'er the rose,
Yews spring where myrtles wont to be—
And for the bridal wreath to wear One gathered from the cypress-tree?
Look on yon grove, where a white fane
Grows whiter as the moonbeams fall;
There is a bust upon its shrine,
Wearing a white rose coronal:
It is the monument where Hope
And youthful Love sleep side by side,
Raised by the mourner to the name
Of her—his lost, but worshipp'd Bride.
Contextual images of plates from Forget Me Not: (1) exterior
* A. Pugin del.H. le Keux sculp.
* MAUSOLEUM OF PRINCESS CHARLOTTE
* EXTERIOR
* Pub. by R. Ackermann, London 1824
* C. Moore del.H. le Keux sculp.
* MAUSOLEUM OF PRINCESS CHARLOTTE
* INTERIOR
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Forget Me Not, 1825

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
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Forget Me Not, 1825 compiled as far as possible from contemporary sources by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* Second Sight
* The Parting Charge
* The Lute
* The Ruined Cottage
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Forget Me Not, 1826

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
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Forget Me Not, 1826 compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* The Choice
* Prince Ahmed and the Fairy