OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems of Giacomo Leopardi/Poem 12

THE INFINITE.
 This lonely hill to me was ever dear,  This hedge, which shuts from view so large a part  Of the remote horizon. As I sit  And gaze, absorbed, I in my thought conceive  The boundless spaces that beyond it range,  The silence supernatural, and rest  Profound; and for a moment I am calm.  And as I listen to the wind, that through  These trees is murmuring, its plaintive voice  I with that infinite compare;  And things eternal I recall, and all  The seasons dead, and this, that round me lives,  And utters its complaint. Thus wandering  My thought in this immensity is drowned;  And sweet to me is shipwreck on this sea.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/A Musical Instrument

A Musical Instrument.
"A Musical Instrument" (by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-61). This poem is the supreme masterpiece of Mrs. Browning. The prime thought in it is the sacrifice and pain that must go to make a poet or any genius.
"The great god sighed for the cost and the pain."
What was he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river? Spreading ruin and scattering ban, Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat. And breaking the golden lilies afloat With the dragon-fly on the river.
​He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, From the deep cool bed of the river: The limpid water turbidly ran, And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away, Ere he brought it out of the river.
High on the shore sat the great god Pan, While turbidly flow'd the river; And hack'd and hew'd as a great god can, With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed To prove it fresh from the river.
He cut it short, did the great god Pan (How tall it stood in the river!), Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, Steadily from the outside ring, And notch'd the poor dry empty thing In holes, as he sat by the river.
"This is the way," laugh'd the great god Pan (Laugh'd while he sat by the river), "The only way, since gods began To make sweet music, they could succeed." Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, He blew in power by the river.
Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan! Piercing sweet by the river! Blinding sweet, O great god Pan! The sun on the hill forgot to die, And the lilies reviv'd, and the dragon-fly Came back to dream on the river.
​Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, To laugh as he sits by the river, Making a poet out of a man: The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,— For the reed which grows nevermore again As a reed with the reeds in the river.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/A Name in the Sand

A Name in the Sand.
"A Name in the Sand," by Hannah Flagg Gould (1789-1865), is a poem to correct our ready overestimate of our own importance.
Alone I walked the ocean strand; A pearly shell was in my hand: I stooped and wrote upon the sand My name—the year—the day. As onward from the spot I passed, One lingering look behind I cast; A wave came rolling high and fast, And washed my lines away.
And so, methought, 'twill shortly be With every mark on earth from me: A wave of dark oblivion's sea Will sweep across the place Where I have trod the sandy shore Of time, and been, to be no more, Of me—my day—the name I bore, To leave nor track nor trace.
And yet, with Him who counts the sands And holds the waters in His hands, I know a lasting record stands Inscribed against my name, Of all this mortal part has wrought, Of all this thinking soul has thought, And from these fleeting moments caught For glory or for shame.
Hannah Flagg Gould.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/A Psalm of Life

A Psalm of Life.
WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST.
"A Psalm of Life," by Henry W. Longfellow (1807-82), is like a treasure laid up in heaven. It should be learned for its future value to the child, not necessarily because the child likes it. Its value will dawn on him.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream!— For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife!
​Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act,—act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait.
Henry W. Longfellow.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/A Wish

A Wish.
"A Wish" (by Samuel Rogers, 1763-1855) and "Lucy" (by Wordsworth, 1770-1850) are two gems that can be valued only for the spirit of quiet and modesty diffused by them.
Mine be a cot beside the hill; A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; A willowy brook that turns a mill With many a fall shall linger near.
The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing In russet gown and apron blue.
The village church among the trees, Where first our marriage-vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze And point with taper spire to Heaven.
S. Rogers.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/A Visit From St. Nicholas

A Visit From St. Nicholas.
"A Visit From St. Nicholas," by Clement Clarke Moore (1779-1863) is the most popular Christmas poem ever written. It carries Santa Claus on from year to year and the spirit of Santa Claus.
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Has just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!" ​As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas, too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, ​And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose; He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down on a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
Clement Clarke Moore.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/Abou Ben Adhem

Abou Ben Adhem.
"Abou Ben Adhem" has won its way to the popular heart because the "Brotherhood of Man" is the motto of this age. (1784-1859.)
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold.
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold; And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blessed; And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
Leigh Hunt.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/Acknowledgments

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO PUBLISHERS AND AUTHORS
It sometimes happens that there are people who do not know that authors are protected by copyright laws. A publisher once cited to me an instance of a teacher who innocently put forth a little volume of poems that she loved and admired, without asking permission of any one. Her annoyance was boundless when she found that she had no right to the poems.
Special permission has been obtained for each copyrighted poem in this volume, and the right to publish has been purchased of the author or publisher, except in those cases where the author or the publisher has, for reasons of courtesy and friendship, given the permission.
In addition to the business arrangements which have been made, we wish to extend our thanks and acknowledgments to those firms which have so kindly allowed us to use their material.
To Houghton Mifflin & Company, of Boston, we are indebted for the use of the following poems: From the copyrighted works of Longfellow—"The Arrow and the Song," "A Fragment of Hiawatha's Childhood," "The Skeleton in Armour," "The Wreck of the Hesperus," "The Ship of State," "The Psalm ​of Life," "The Village Blacksmith." From Whittier—"Barbara Frietchie" and "The Three Bells of Glasgow." From Emerson—"The Problem." From Burroughs—"My Own Shall Come to Me." From Lowell—"The Finding of the Lyre," "The Shepherd of King Admetus," and a fragment of "The Vision of Sir Launfal." From Holmes—"The Chambered Nautilus" and "Old Ironsides." From James T. Fields—"The Captain's Daughter." From Bayard Taylor—"The Song in Camp." From Celia Thaxter—"The Sandpiper." From J. T. Trowbridge—"Farm-Yard Song." From Edith M. Thomas—"The God of Music" and Hermes' "Moly."
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/A Modest Wit

A Modest Wit.
I learned "A Modest Wit" as a reading-lesson when I was a child. It has clung to me and so I cling to it. It is just as good as it ever was. It is a sharp thrust at power that depends on externalities. Selleck Osborne (————.)
A supercilious nabob of the East— Haughty, being great—purse-proud, being rich— A governor, or general, at the least, I have forgotten which— Had in his family a humble youth, Who went from England in his patron's suit, An unassuming boy, in truth A lad of decent parts, and good repute.
This youth had sense and spirit; But yet with all his sense, Excessive diffidence Obscured his merit.
One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine, His honour, proudly free, severely merry, Conceived it would be vastly fine To crack a joke upon his secretary.
"Young man," he said, "by what art, craft, or trade, Did your good father gain a livelihood?"— "He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said, "And in his time was reckon'd good."
"A saddler, eh! and taught you Greek, Instead of teaching you to sew! Pray, why did not your father make A saddler, sir of you?"
​Each parasite, then, as in duty bound, The joke applauded, and the laugh went round. At length Modestus, bowing low, Said (craving pardon, if too free he made), "Sir, by your leave, I fain would know Your father's trade!"
"My father's trade! by heaven, that's too bad! My father's trade? Why, blockhead, are you mad? My father, sir, did never stoop so low— He was a gentleman, I'd have you know."
"Excuse the liberty I take," Modestus said, with archness on his brow, "Pray, why did not your father make A gentleman of you?"
Selleck Osborne.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/Abide With Me

Abide With Me.
"Abide With Me" (Henry Francis Lyte, 1793-1847) appeals to natural longing for the unchanging and to our love of security.
Abide with me! fast falls the eventide; The darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide ​When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me.
Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away; Change and decay in all around I see: O Thou who changest not, abide with me!
Henry Francis Lyte.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/America

America.
"America" (Samuel Francis Smith, 1808-95) is a good poem to learn as a poem, regardless of the fact that every American who can sing it ought to know it, that he may join in the chorus when patriotic celebrations call for it. My boys love to repeat the entire poem, but I often find masses of people trying to sing it, knowing only one stanza. It is our national anthem, and a part of our education to know every word of it.
My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing; Land where my fathers died, Land of the Pilgrims' pride; From every mountain side, Let freedom ring.
My native country, thee— Land of the noble free— Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills, Like that above.
Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees Sweet freedom's song; Let mortal tongues awake; Let all that breathe partake; Let rocks their silence break— The sound prolong.
Our fathers' God, to Thee, Author of liberty, To Thee we sing; ​Long may our land be bright With freedom's holy light: Protect us by Thy might, Great God, our King.
S. F. Smith.
# Poems (Bass)/The Sweetest Songs

Poems.
# Poems of Optimism/Neutral

That pale word ‘Neutral’ sits becomingly On lips of weaklings. But the men whose brains Find fuel in their blood, the men whose minds Hold sympathetic converse with their hearts, Such men are never neutral. That word stands Unsexed and impotent in Realms of Speech. When mighty problems face a startled world No virile man is neutral. Right or wrong His thoughts go forth, assertive, unafraid To stand by his convictions, and to do Their part in shaping issues to an end. Silence may guard the door of useless words, At dictate of Discretion; but to stand Without opinions in a world which needs Constructive thinking, is a coward’s part.
# Poems of Optimism/Protest

To sit in silence when we should protest Makes cowards out of men. The human race Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised Against injustice, ignorance and lust The Inquisition yet would serve the law And guillotines decide our least disputes. The few who dare must speak and speak again To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God, No vested power in this great day and land Can gag or throttle; Press and voice may cry Loud disapproval of existing ills, May criticise oppression and condemn The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws That let the children and child-bearers toil To purchase ease for idle millionaires, Therefore do I protest against the boast Of independence in this mighty land. Call no chain strong which holds one rusted link, Call no land free that holds one fettered slave Until the manacled, slim wrists of babes Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee, Until the Mother bears no burden save The precious one beneath her heart; until God’s soil is rescued from the clutch of greed And given back to labour, let no man Call this the Land of Freedom.
# Poems of Optimism/Replies

You have lived long and learned the secret of life, O Seer! Tell me what are the best three things to seek - The best three things for a man to seek on earth?
The best three things for a man to seek, O Son! are these: Reverence for that great Source from whence he came; Work for the world wherein he finds himself; And knowledge of the Realm toward which he goes.
What are the best three things to love on earth, O Seer! What are the best three things for a man to love?
The best three things for a man to love, O Son! are these: Labour which keeps his forces all in action; A home wherein no evil thing may enter; And a loving woman with God in her heart.
What are the three great sins to shun, O Seer! - What are the three great sins for a man to shun?
The three great sins for a man to shun, O Son! are these: A thought which soils the heart from whence it goes; An action that can harm a living thing; And undeveloped energies of mind.
What are the worst three things to fear, O Seer! - What are the worst three things for a man to fear?
The worst three things for man to fear, O Son! are these: Doubt and suspicion in a young child’s eyes; Accusing shame upon a woman’s face; And in himself no consciousness of God.
# Poems of Optimism/On Avon's breast I saw a stately swan

One day when England’s June was at its best, I saw a stately and imperious swan Floating on Avon’s fair untroubled breast. Sudden, it seemed as if all strife had gone Out of the world; all discord, all unrest.
The sorrows and the sinnings of the race Faded away like nightmares in the dawn. All heaven was one blue background for the grace Of Avon’s beautiful, slow-moving swan; And earth held nothing mean or commonplace.
Life seemed no longer to be hurrying on With unbecoming haste; but softly trod, As one who reads in emerald leaf, or lawn, Or crimson rose a message straight from God. ..... On Avon’s breast I saw a stately swan.
# Poems of Optimism/Separation

HE
One decade and a half since first we came With hearts aflame Into Love’s Paradise, as man and mate; And now we separate. Soon, all too soon, Waned the white splendour of our honeymoon.  We saw it fading; but we did not know  How bleak the path would be when once its glow Was wholly gone. And yet we two were forced to follow on -  Leagues, leagues apart while ever side by side.  Darker and darker grew the loveless weather, Darker the way, Until we could not stay  Longer together.  Now that all anger from our hearts has died, And love has flown far from its ruined nest, To find sweet shelter in another breast,  Let us talk calmly of our past mistakes,  And of our faults; if only for the sakes Of those with whom our futures will be cast.  You shall speak first.
SHE
A woman would speak last -  Tell me my first grave error as a wife.
HE
 Inertia. My young veins were rife With manhood’s ardent blood; and love was fire Within me. But you met my strong desire  With lips like frozen rose leaves - chaste, so chaste  That all your splendid beauty seemed but waste Of love’s materials. Then of that beauty  Which had so pleased my sight You seemed to take no care; you felt no duty  To keep yourself an object of delight  For lover’s-eyes; and appetite And indolence soon wrought Their devastating changes. You were not  The woman I had sworn to love and cherish. If love is starved, what can love do but perish? Now will you speak of my first fatal sin  And all that followed, even as I have done?
SHE
I must begin  With the young quarter of our honeymoon.  You are but one  Of countless men who take the priceless boon Of woman’s love and kill it at the start,  Not wantonly but blindly. Woman’s passion Is such a subtle thing - woof of her heart, Web of her spirit; and the body’s part  Is to play ever but the lesser rôle  To her white soul.  Seized in brute fashion, It fades like down on wings of butterflies; Then dies.  So my love died.  Next, on base Mammon’s cross you nailed my pride,  Making me ask for what was mine by right:  Until, in my own sight,  I seemed a helpless slave  To whom the master gave A grudging dole. Oh, yes, at times gifts showered Upon your chattel; but I was not dowered  By generous love. Hate never framed a curse Or placed a cruel ban That so crushed woman, as the law of man  That makes her pensioner upon his purse. That necessary stuff called gold is such A cold, rude thing it needs the nicest touch  Of thought and speech when it approaches love,  Or it will prove the certain death thereof.
HE
Your words cut deep; ’tis time we separate.
SHE
Well, each goes wiser to a newer mate.
# Poems of Optimism/The Answer

Up to the gates of gleaming Pearl, There came the spirit of a girl, And to the white-robed Guard she said: ‘Dear Angel, am I truly dead? Just yonder, lying on my bed, I heard them say it; and they wept. And after that, methinks I slept. Then when I woke, I saw your face, And suddenly was in this place. It seems a pleasant place to be, Yet earth was fair enough to me. What is there here, to do, or see? Will I see God, dear Angel, say? And is He very far away?’
The Angel said, ‘You are in truth What men call dead. That word to youth Is full of terror; but it means Only a change of tasks, and scenes. You have been brought to us because Of certain ancient karmic laws Set into motion æons gone. By us you will be guided on From plane to plane, and sphere to sphere, Until your tasks are finished here. Then back to earth, the home of man, To work again another span.’
‘But, Angel, when will I see God?’
‘After the final path is trod; After you no more long, or crave, To see, or hear, or own, or have Aught beside - HIM. Then shall His face Reveal itself to you in space. And you shall find yourself made one With that Great Sun, behind the sun. Child, go thy way inside the gate, Where many eager loved ones wait. Death is but larger life begun.’