synavate/flux_to_shakespeare
Text-to-Image • Updated
Datasets:
Author stringlengths 7 46 | text stringlengths 0 283k | Title stringlengths 0 253 |
|---|---|---|
Matthew Prior | Dulce est desipere in loco.
I
Some Folks are drunk, yet do not know it:
So might not Bacchus give You Law?
Was it a Muse, O lofty Poet,
Or Virgin of St. Cyr, You saw?
Why all this Fury? What's the Matter,
That Oaks must come from Thrace to dance?
Must stupid Stocks be taught to flatter?
And is there no such Wood in Fra... | An English Ballad, On The Taking Of Namur, By The King Of Great Britain |
Thomas Moore | When Love, who ruled as Admiral o'er
Has rosy mother's isles of light,
Was cruising off the Paphian shore,
A sail at sunset hove in sight.
"A chase, a chase! my Cupids all,"
Said Love, the little Admiral.
Aloft the winged sailors sprung,
And, swarming up the mast like bees,
The snow-white sails expanding flung,
Like br... | When Love, Who Ruled. |
Robert Herrick | To the Right Honourable Mildmay, Earl of Westmoreland
Come, sons of summer, by whose toil
We are the lords of wine and oil;
By whose tough labours, and rough hands,
We rip up first, then reap our lands.
Crown'd with the ears of corn, now come,
And to the pipe sing Harvest Home.
Come forth, my lord, and see the cart
Dre... | Harvest Home |
John Greenleaf Whittier | I.
"Encore un hymne, O ma lyre
Un hymn pour le Seigneur,
Un hymne dans mon delire,
Un hymne dans mon bonheur."
One hymn more, O my lyre!
Praise to the God above,
Of joy and life and love,
Sweeping its strings of fire!
Oh, who the speed of bird and wind
And sunbeam's glance will lend to me,
That, soaring upward, I may f... | Hymns From The French Of Lamartine |
Alfred Lord Tennyson | I.
Ulysses, much-experienced man,
Whose eyes have known this globe of ours,
Her tribes of men, and trees, and flowers,
From Corrientes to Japan,
II.
To you that bask below the Line,
I soaking here in winter wet'
The century's three strong eights have met
To drag me down to seventy-nine
III.
In summer if I reach my day'... | To Ulysses* |
Thomas Gent | 0 Nymph! with cheeks of roseate hue,
Whose eyes are violets bath'd in dew,
So liquid, languishing, and blue,
How they bewitch me!
Thy bosom hath a magic spell,
For when its full orbs heave and swell,
I feel but, oh! I must not tell,
Lord! how they twitch me! | To ****** |
Unknown | 1. I am a gold lock.
2. I am a gold key.
1. I am a silver lock.
2. I am a silver key.
1. I am a brass lock.
2. I am a brass key.
1. I am a lead lock.
2. I am a lead key.
1. I am a monk lock.
2. I am a monk key! | Nursery Rhyme. CCXCVII. Games. |
Robert Herrick | Chorus Sacerdotum. From the temple to your home
May a thousand blessings come!
And a sweet concurring stream
Of all joys to join with them.
Chorus Juvenum. Happy Day,
Make no long stay
Here
In thy sphere;
But give thy place to Night,
That she,
As thee,
May be
Partaker of this sight.
And since it was thy care
To see the... | Connubii Flores, Or The Well-Wishes At Weddings. |
Hanford Lennox Gordon | Waz'ya came down from the North
from the land of perpetual winter.
From his frost-covered beard issued forth the sharp-biting,
shrill-whistling North-wind;
At the touch of his breath
the wide earth turned to stone, and the lakes and the rivers:
From his nostrils the white vapors rose,
and they covered the sky like a b... | Famine. |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | "I am but clay," the sinner plead,
Who fed each vain desire.
"Not only clay," another said,
"But worse, for thou art mire." | Distinction |
Bliss Carman (William) | Hear! hear! hear!
Listen! the word
Of the mocking-bird!
Hear! hear! hear!
I will make all clear;
I will let you know
Where the footfalls go
That through the thicket and over the hill
Allure, allure.
How the bird-voice cleaves
Through the weft of leaves
With a leap and a thrill
Like the flash of a weaver's shuttle, swif... | The Mocking-Bird. |
Margaret Steele Anderson | "0, was it on that awful road,
The way of death, you came?"
"It was a little road," he said,
"I never knew its name."
"Is it not rough along that road?"
"I cannot tell," said he,
"Up to your gate, in her two arms.
My mother carried me."
"And will you show me Christ?" he said,
"And must we seek Him far?"
"That is our Lo... | The Angel And The Child. |
Robert Herrick | Ph. Charon! O gentle Charon! let me woo thee
By tears and pity now to come unto me.
Ch. What voice so sweet and charming do I hear?
Say what thou art. Ph. I prithee first draw near.
Ch. A sound I hear, but nothing yet can see;
Speak, where thou art. Ph. O Charon pity me!
I am a bird, and though no name I tell,
My warbl... | Charon And Philomel; A Dialogue Sung. |
Oliver Wendell Holmes | O Bios Bpaxus, - life is but a song;
H rexvn uakpn, - art is wondrous long;
Yet to the wise her paths are ever fair,
And Patience smiles, though Genius may despair.
Give us but knowledge, though by slow degrees,
And blend our toil with moments bright as these;
Let Friendship's accents cheer our doubtful way,
And Love's... | A Sentiment |
Algernon Charles Swinburne | I.
A baby shines as bright
If winter or if May be
On eyes that keep in sight
A baby.
Though dark the skies or grey be,
It fills our eyes with light,
If midnight or midday be.
Love hails it, day and night,
The sweetest thing that may be
Yet cannot praise aright
A baby.
II.
All heaven, in every baby born,
All absolute of... | Babyhood |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | 'T is better to sit here beside the sea,
Here on the spray-kissed beach,
In silence, that between such friends as we
Is full of deepest speech. | Silence |
Jean Blewett | Wha cares if skies be dull and gray?
Wha heeds November weather?
Let ilka Scot be glad to-day
The whole wide warl' thegither.
We're a' a prood and stubborn lot,
And clannish - sae fowk name us -
Ay, but with sic guid cause none ought
Tae judge us, or tae blame us,
For joys that are we'll pledge to-day
A land baith fai... | St. Andrew's Day - A Toast. |
Jean de La Fontaine | A young country woman named Perrette set out one morning from her little dairy-farm with a pail of milk which she cleverly balanced upon her head over a pad or cushion. She hurried with sprightly steps to the market town, and so that she might be the less encumbered, wore a kirtle that was short and light - in truth a ... | The Dairy-Woman And The Pail Of Milk (Prose Fable) |
Unknown | [The original of 'The house that Jack built' is presumed to be a hymn in Sepher Haggadah, fol. 23, a translation of which is here given. The historical interpretation was first given by P. N. Leberecht, at Leipsic, in 1731, and is printed in the 'Christian Reformer,' vol. xvii, p. 28. The original is in the Chaldee lan... | Nursery Rhyme. DXCV. Accumulative Stories. |
Rudyard Kipling | 0h, late withdrawn from human-kind
And following dreams we never knew!
Varus, what dream has Fate assigned
To trouble you?
Such virtue as commends of law
Of Virtue to the vulgar horde
Suffices not. You needs must draw
A righteous sword;
And, flagrant in well-doing, smite
The priests of Bacchus at their fane,
Lest any w... | The Portent |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | 'Lias! 'Lias! Bless de Lawd!
Don' you know de day's erbroad?
Ef you don' git up, you scamp,
Dey 'll be trouble in dis camp.
T'ink I gwine to let you sleep
W'ile I meks yo' boa'd an' keep?
Dat's a putty howdy-do--
Don' you hyeah me, 'Lias--you?
Bet ef I come crost dis flo'
You won' fin' no time to sno'.
Daylight all a-s... | In The Morning |
Unknown | 1. I went up one pair of stairs.
2. Just like me.
1. I went up two pair of stairs.
2. Just like me.
1. I went into a room.
2. Just like me.
1. I looked out of a window.
2. Just like me.
1. And there I saw a monkey.
2. Just like me. | Nursery Rhyme. CCCVII. Games. |
George MacDonald | 0 Earth, Earth, Earth,
I am dying for love of thee,
For thou hast given me birth,
And thy hands have tended me.
I would fall asleep on thy breast
When its swelling folds are bare,
When the thrush dreams of its nest
And the life of its joy in the air;
When thy life is a vanished ghost,
And the glory hath left thy waves,... | To My Mother Earth |
Washington Irving | If that severe doom of Synesius be true, 'It is a greater offence to steal dead men's labor, than their clothes,' what shall become of most writers?
- BURTON'S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY.
I have often wondered at the extreme fecundity of the press, and how it comes to pass that so many heads, on which Nature seems to have i... | The Art Of Book Making - Prose |
Robert Herrick | Hor. While, Lydia, I was loved of thee,
Nor any was preferred 'fore me
To hug thy whitest neck, than I
The Persian king lived not more happily.
Lyd. While thou no other didst affect,
Nor Chloe was of more respect
Than Lydia, far-famed Lydia,
I flourished more than Roman Ilia.
Hor. Now Thracian Chloe governs me... | A Dialogue Betwixt Horace And Lydia, Translated Anno 1627, And Set By Mr. Ro. Ramsey. |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | EXPLANATORY
Kamehameha First, of the Hawaiian Islands, conquered his foes in a great battle, driving them over the high mountain peak known as Pali- - one of the famous scenic views of the world, and the goal of all visitors in Honolulu.
The Hula (pronounced hoola) was the national muscle and abdominal dance of Hawaii,... | The New Hawaiian Girl |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | 'Tis fine to play
In the fragrant hay,
And romp on the golden load;
To ride old Jack
To the barn and back,
Or tramp by a shady road.
To pause and drink,
At a mossy brink;
Ah, that is the best of joy,
And so I say
On a summer's day,
What's so fine as being a boy?
Ha, Ha!
With line and hook
By a babbling brook,
The fishe... | A Boy's Summer Song |
W. M. MacKeracher | Where are those days, O Caledon,
So glorious and bright,
In which thy star resplendent shone
With passing lustrous light?
Alas! alas! those happier days
Are shrouded in the past,
Thy glory was like that of Greece,
Too bright it shone to last.
Where are those knightly heroes bold,
Those champions of the right,
That bore... | Scotland: A Jacobite's Lament. |
Sara Teasdale | For W. P.
The little park was filled with peace,
The walks were carpeted with snow,
But every iron gate was locked.
Lest if we entered, peace would go.
We circled it a dozen times,
The wind was blowing from the sea,
I only felt your restless eyes
Whose love was like a cloak for me.
Oh heavy gates that fate has locked
T... | Gramercy Park |
Robert Herrick | Mon. Bad are the times. Sil. And worse than they are we.
Mon. Troth, bad are both; worse fruit and ill the tree:
The feast of shepherds fail. Sil. None crowns the cup
Of wassail now or sets the quintell up;
And he who us'd to lead the country-round,
Youthful Mirtillo, here he comes grief-drown'd.
Ambo. Let's cheer him ... | A Pastoral Sung To The King: Montano, Silvio, And Mirtillo, Shepherds. |
George MacDonald | 0 Lord, my God, how long
Shall my poor heart pant for a boundless joy?
How long, O mighty Spirit, shall I hear
The murmur of Truth's crystal waters slide
From the deep caverns of their endless being,
But my lips taste not, and the grosser air
Choke each pure inspiration of thy will?
I am a denseness 'twixt me and the l... | A Broken Prayer |
Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch) | Liete e pensose, accompagnate e sole.
NOT FINDING HER WITH HER FRIENDS, HE ASKS THEM WHY SHE IS ABSENT.
P. Pensive and glad, accompanied, alone,
Ladies who cheat the time with converse gay,
Where does my life, where does my death delay?
Why not with you her form, as usual, shown?
L. Glad are we her rare lustre to h... | Sonnet CLXXXVI. |
William Schwenck Gilbert | An actor Gibbs, of Drury Lane -
Of very decent station,
Once happened in a part to gain
Excessive approbation:
It sometimes turns a fellow's brain
And makes him singularly vain
When he believes that he receives
Tremendous approbation.
His great success half drove him mad,
But no one seemed to mind him;
Well, in another... | The Haughty Actor. |
Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch) | Che fai, alma? che pensi? avrem mai pace?
DIALOGUE OF THE POET WITH HIS HEART.
P. What actions fire thee, and what musings fill?
Soul! is it peace, or truce, or war eterne?
H. Our lot I know not, but, as I discern,
Her bright eyes favour not our cherish'd ill.
P. What profit, with those eyes if she at will
Makes us... | Sonnet CXVII. |
Robert Herrick | Herr. Come and let's in solemn wise
Both address to sacrifice:
Old religion first commands
That we wash our hearts, and hands.
Is the beast exempt from stain,
Altar clean, no fire profane?
Are the garlands, is the nard
Ready here?
Jul. All well prepar'd,
With the wine that must be shed,
'Twixt the horns, upon the he... | The Sacrifice, By Way Of Discourse Betwixt Himself And Julia. |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Before I lost my love, he said to me:
'Sweetheart, I like deep azure tints on you.'
But I, perverse as any girl will be
Who has too many lovers, wore not blue.
He said, 'I love to see my lady's hair
Coiled low like Clytie's -with no wanton curl.'
But I, like any silly, wilful girl,
Said, 'Donald likes it high,' and wor... | Before And After |
Frank Sidgwick | The Text given here is comparatively a late one, from the Roxburghe collection (iii. 456). An earlier broadside, in the same and other collections, gives a longer but curiously corrupted version, exhibiting such perversions as 'Screw' for 'Scroop,' and 'Garlard' for 'Carlisle.'
The Story in its full form relates that S... | Sir Hugh In The Grime's Downfall |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | "Sunshine on de medders,
Greenness on de way;
Dat 's de blessed reason
I sing all de day."
Look hyeah! Whut you axin'?
Whut meks me so merry?
'Spect to see me sighin'
W'en hit's wa'm in Febawary?
'Long de stake an' rider
Seen a robin set;
W'y hit 'mence a-thawin',
Groun' is monst'ous wet.
Den you stan' dah wond'rin',
L... | A Warm Day In Winter |
William Schwenck Gilbert | Mr. Blake was a regular out-and-out hardened sinner,
Who was quite out of the pale of Christianity, so to speak,
He was in the habit of smoking a long pipe and drinking a glass of grog on a Sunday after dinner,
And seldom thought of going to church more than twice or--if Good
Friday or Christmas Day happened to come in... | Lost Mr. Blake. |
Jean de La Fontaine | [1]
A house was built by Socrates
That failed the public taste to please.
Some blamed the inside; some, the out; and all
Agreed that the apartments were too small.
Such rooms for him, the greatest sage of Greece!
'I ask,' said he, 'no greater bliss
Than real friends to fill e'en this.'
And reason had good Socrates
To t... | The Words Of Socrates. |
Oliver Herford | A's Albert Edward, well meaning but flighty,
Who invited King Arthur, the blameless and mighty,
To meet Alcibiades and Aphrodite.
B is for Bernhardt, who fails to awaken
Much feeling in Bismarck, Barabbas, and Bacon.
C is Columbus, who tries to explain
How to balance an egg--to the utter disdain
Of Confucius, Carlyle, ... | An Alphabet of Celebrities |
Robert Herrick | End. Ah! Lycidas, come tell me why
Thy whilom merry oat
By thee doth so neglected lie,
And never purls a note?
I prithee speak. Lyc. I will. End. Say on.
Lyc. 'Tis thou, and only thou,
That art the cause, Endymion.
End. For love's sake, tell me how.
Lyc. In this regard: that thou do'st play
Upon another pla... | An Eclogue Or Pastoral Between Endymion Porter And Lycidas Herrick, Set And Sung. |
Abram Joseph Ryan | A baby played with the surplice sleeve
Of a gentle priest; while in accents low,
The sponsors murmured the grand "I believe,"
And the priest bade the mystic waters to flow
In the name of the Father, and the Son,
And Holy Spirit -- Three in One.
Spotless as a lily's leaf,
Whiter than the Christmas snow;
Not a sign of si... | Life |
Thomas Hardy | A baby watched a ford, whereto
A wagtail came for drinking;
A blaring bull went wading through,
The wagtail showed no shrinking.
A stallion splashed his way across,
The birdie nearly sinking;
He gave his plumes a twitch and toss,
And held his own unblinking.
Next saw the baby round the spot
A mongrel slowly slinking;
T... | Wagtail And Baby |
George MacDonald | 0 Lord, at Joseph's humble bench
Thy hands did handle saw and plane;
Thy hammer nails did drive and clench,
Avoiding knot and humouring grain.
That thou didst seem, thou wast indeed,
In sport thy tools thou didst not use;
Nor, helping hind's or fisher's need,
The labourer's hire, too nice, refuse.
Lord, might I be but ... | The Carpenter |
William Henry Drummond | THE ADVENTURES OF AN ENGLISHMAN IN THE CANADIAN WOODS.
Wan morning de walkim boss say "Damase,
I t'ink you're good man on canoe d'ecorce,
So I'll ax you go wit' your frien' Phil'as
An' meet M'sieu' Smit' on Chenail W'ite Horse.
"He'll have I am sure de grosse baggage,
Mebbe some valise, mebbe six or t'ree,
But if she... | M'Sieu Smit |
Unknown | 1, 2, 3, 4, 5!
I caught a hare alive;
6, 7, 8, 9, 10!
I let her go again. | Nursery Rhyme. XXXIII. Literal |
Virna Sheard | 0 heart of mine - if I were but a swallow -
A thing so fearless, swift of flight, and free -
On wings unwearied I would find and follow
Some path that led to thee!
Were I a rose out in the garden growing
My sweetness I would give the vagrant breeze
For he, perchance, might meet thee all unknowing -
Yet bring thee me... | A Song |
Thomas Gent | By Miss A.M. TURNER, Daughter of the Eminent Engraver.
Death to the very life! not the closed eye,
Not those small paralytic limbs alone,
But every feather tells so mournfully
Thy fate, and that thy little life has flown.
Manhood forbids that I should weep, and yet
Sadness comes o'er my spirit, and I stand
Gazing inten... | Written Under An Elegant Drawing Of A Dead Canary Bird, |
Robert Herrick | Chorus.
What sweeter music can we bring,
Than a Carol, for to sing
The Birth of this our heavenly King?
Awake the Voice! Awake the String!
Heart, Ear, and Eye, and every thing
Awake! the while the active Finger
Runs division with the Singer.
[From the Flourish they came to the Song].
Voice 1:
Dark and dull night, fly h... | A Christmas Carol, Sung To The King In The Presence At White-Hall |
Thomas Moore | A Bishop and a bold dragoon,
Both heroes in their way,
Did thus, of late, one afternoon,
Unto each other say:--
"Dear bishop," quoth the brave huzzar,
"As nobody denies
"That you a wise logician are,
"And I am--otherwise,
"'Tis fit that in this question, we
"Stick each to his own art--
"That yours should be the sophist... | Recent Dialogue. |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | A blue-bell springs upon the ledge,
A lark sits singing in the hedge;
Sweet perfumes scent the balmy air,
And life is brimming everywhere.
What lark and breeze and bluebird sing,
Is Spring, Spring, Spring!
No more the air is sharp and cold;
The planter wends across the wold,
And, glad, beneath the shining sky
We wander... | Spring Song |
Fannie Isabelle Sherrick | A beautiful form and a beautiful face,
A winsome bride and a woman's grace,
So fair and sweet it were heaven indeed
For man to follow where she would lead.
A web of lace and a jeweled hand,
And life is changed by a golden band;
A dream of love and a wealth of gold--
The old new story once more is told.
A wealth of flow... | Two Pictures. |
Jonathan Swift | A bard, grown desirous of saving his pelf,
Built a house he was sure would hold none but himself.
This enraged god Apollo, who Mercury sent,
And bid him go ask what his votary meant?
"Some foe to my empire has been his adviser:
'Tis of dreadful portent when a poet turns miser!
Tell him, Hermes, from me, tell that subje... | On One Of The Windows At Delville |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | A bee that was searching for sweets one day
Through the gate of a rose garden happened to stray.
In the heart of a rose he hid away,
And forgot in his bliss the light of day,
As sipping his honey he buzzed in song;
Though day was waning, he lingered long,
For the rose was sweet, so sweet.
A robin sits pluming his ruddy... | Song |
Thomas Bailey Aldrich | A blight, a gloom, I know not what, has crept upon my gladness--
Some vague, remote ancestral touch of sorrow, or of madness;
A fear that is not fear, a pain that has not pain's insistence;
A sense of longing, or of loss, in some foregone existence;
A subtle hurt that never pen has writ nor tongue has spoken--
Such hur... | A Mood |
John Clare | A beautiful flower, that bedeck'd a mean pasture,
In virgin perfection I found;
Its fair bloom stood naked to every disaster,
And deep the storm gather'd around:
The rose in the midst of its brambles is blooming,
Whose weapons intruders alarm,
But sweetest of blossoms, fond, fair, and weak woman
Has nothing to guard he... | Song. "A Beautiful Flower, That Bedeck'd A Mean Pasture" |
Thomas Hardy | A bird bills the selfsame song,
With never a fault in its flow,
That we listened to here those long
Long years ago.
A pleasing marvel is how
A strain of such rapturous rote
Should have gone on thus till now
Unchanged in a note!
- But it's not the selfsame bird. -
No: perished to dust is he . . .
As also are those who h... | The Selfsame Song |
Robert Herrick | A bachelor I will
Live as I have liv'd still,
And never take a wife
To crucify my life;
But this I'll tell ye too,
What now I mean to do:
A sister (in the stead
Of wife) about I'll lead;
Which I will keep embrac'd,
And kiss, but yet be chaste. | No Spouse But A Sister. |
William Wordsworth | A barking sound the Shepherd hears,
A cry as of a dog or fox;
He halts and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks:
And now at distance can discern
A stirring in a brake of fern;
And instantly a dog is seen,
Glancing through that covert green.
The Dog is not of mountain breed;
Its motions, too, are wild and sh... | Fidelity |
Henry Lawson | A blanket low and leaden,
Though rent across the west,
Whose darkness seems to deaden
The brightest and the best;
A sunset white and staring
On cloud-wrecks far away,
And haggard house-walls glaring
A farewell to the day.
A light on tower and steeple,
Where sun no longer shines,
My people, Oh my people!
Rise up and rea... | Above Crow's Nest - Sydney |
Jean de La Fontaine | [1]
A bitch, that felt her time approaching,
And had no place for parturition,
Went to a female friend, and, broaching
Her delicate condition,
Got leave herself to shut
Within the other's hut.
At proper time the lender came
Her little premises to claim.
The bitch crawl'd meekly to the door,
And humbly begg'd a fortnigh... | The Bitch And Her Friend. |
William Schwenck Gilbert | A BISHOP once I will not name his see
Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional;
From pulpit shackles never set them free,
And found a sin where sin was unintentional.
All pleasures ended in abuse auricular
The Bishop was so terribly particular.
Though, on the whole, a wise and upright man,
He sought to make of human... | The Phantom Curate. A Fable |
Algernon Charles Swinburne | A bell tolls on in my heart
As though in my ears a knell
Had ceased for awhile to swell,
But the sense of it would not part
From the spirit that bears its part
In the chime of the soundless bell.
Ah dear dead singer of sorrow,
The burden is now not thine
That grief bade sound for a sign
Through the songs of the night w... | A Dirge |
James Joyce | A birdless heaven, seadusk, one lone star
Piercing the west,
As thou, fond heart, love's time, so faint, so far,
Rememberest.
The clear young eyes' soft look, the candid brow,
The fragrant hair,
Falling as through the silence falleth now
Dusk of the air.
Why then, remembering those shy
Sweet lures, repine
When the dear... | Tutto ' Sciolto |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | 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 st... | England, Awake! |
Paul Cameron Brown | A beach back of bric ' brac,
wine goblet of sky ... .
the horizon beginning
somewhere between Nod &
nigh unto forever with
only the sigh of a Casuarina pine
or sea-grape to force a smile.
It was entering into twilight
- our minds were sailing ships,
mere vagaries upon the waves,
mine more a clippership
on the Frisco to... | Night Fishing At Antibes |
Thomas Moore | A beam of tranquillity smiled in the west,
The storms of the morning pursued us no more;
And the wave, while it welcomed the moment of rest.
Still heaved, as remembering ills that were o'er.
Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour,
Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead;
And the spirit becalmed but rememb... | Stanzas. |
William Butler Yeats | A Bloody and a sudden end,
Gunshot or a noose,
For Death who takes what man would keep,
Leaves what man would lose.
He might have had my sister,
My cousins by the score,
But nothing satisfied the fool
But my dear Mary Moore,
None other knows what pleasures man
At table or in bed.
i(What shall I do for pretty girls)
i(N... | John Kinsella's Lament For Mr. Mary Moore |
John Greenleaf Whittier | A bending staff I would not break,
A feeble faith I would not shake,
Nor even rashly pluck away
The error which some truth may stay,
Whose loss might leave the soul without
A shield against the shafts of doubt.
And yet, at times, when over all
A darker mystery seems to fall,
(May God forgive the child of dust,
Who seek... | Questions Of Life |
Edward Smyth Jones | A blossom pink, a blossom blue,
Make all there is in love so true.
'Tis fit, methinks, my heart to move,
To give it thee, sweet girl, I love!
Now, take it, dear, this morn and wear
A wreath of beauty in thy hair;
Think on it, when from bliss we part -
The emblem of my wooing heart! | A Bouquet |
Mary Hannay Foott | A blue line to the westward that surely is not cloud;
A green tinge in the waters; a clamorous bird-crowd;
Then far-off foamy edges, and hill-tops timber fringed;
And, perched aloft, a light-house, o'er grey cliffs golden-tinged.
O watchers leaning landward, know ye of nothing more?
And hear ye but the sea-birds? and s... | Nearing Port |
Jean Ingelow | (WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND'S BIRTHDAY.)
"The days of our life are threescore years and ten."
A birthday: - and a day that rose
With much of hope, with meaning rife -
A thoughtful day from dawn to close:
The middle day of human life.
In sloping fields on narrow plains,
The sheep were feeding on their knees
As we went throug... | A Birthday Walk. |
Walter Crane | A Beast he would be, or a bird,
As might suit, thought the Bat: but he erred.
When the battle was done,
He found that no one
Would take him for friend at his word.
Between Two Stools You May Come To The Ground | Neither Beast Nor Bird |
Bliss Carman (William) | "A barbered woman's man,"--yes, so
He seemed to me a twelvemonth since;
And so he may be--let it go--
Admit his flaws--we need not wince
To find our noblest not all great.
What of it? He is still the prince,
And we the pages of his state.
The world applauds his words; his fame
Is noised wherever knowledge be;
Even the ... | Contemporaries. |
Jean de La Fontaine | A block of marble was so fine,
To buy it did a sculptor hasten.
'What shall my chisel, now 'tis mine -
A god, a table, or a basin?'
'A god,' said he, 'the thing shall be;
I'll arm it, too, with thunder.
Let people quake, and bow the knee
With reverential wonder.'
So well the cunning artist wrought
All things within a ... | The Sculptor And The Statue Of Jupiter. |
Samuel Taylor Coleridge | A bless'd lot hath he, who having passed
His youth and early manhood in the stir
And turmoil of the world, retreats at length,
With cares that move, not agitate the heart,
To the same dwelling where his father dwelt;
And haply views his tottering little ones
Embrace those ag'd knees and climb that lap,
On which first k... | To the Rev. George Coleridge |
Algernon Charles Swinburne | I.
A Baby's feet, like sea-shells pink,
Might tempt, should heaven see meet,
An angel's lips to kiss, we think,
A baby's feet.
Like rose-hued sea-flowers toward the heat
They stretch and spread and wink
Their ten soft buds that part and meet.
No flower-bells that expand and shrink
Gleam half so heavenly sweet
As shine ... | Etude Realiste |
Richard Le Gallienne | A battered swordsman, slashed and scarred,
I scarce had thought to fight again,
But love of the old game dies hard,
So to't, my lady, if you're fain!
I'm scarce the mettle to refrain,
I'll ask no quarter from your art -
But what if we should both be slain!
I fight you, darling, for your heart.
I warn you, though, be o... | Ballade Of The Oldest Duel In The World |
Jean de La Fontaine | [1]
A bachelor caress'd his cat,
A darling, fair, and delicate;
So deep in love, he thought her mew
The sweetest voice he ever knew.
By prayers, and tears, and magic art,
The man got Fate to take his part;
And, lo! one morning at his side
His cat, transform'd, became his bride.
In wedded state our man was seen
The fool... | The Cat Metamorphosed Into A Woman. |
Alexander Pope | A Bishop, by his neighbours hated,
Has cause to wish himself translated:
But why should Hough desire translation,
Loved and esteem'd by all the nation?
Yet, if it be the old man's case,
I'll lay my life I know the place:
'Tis where God sent some that adore Him,
And whither Enoch went before him. | Epigram. |
John Greenleaf Whittier | A beautiful and happy girl,
With step as light as summer air,
Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl,
Shadowed by many a careless curl
Of unconfined and flowing hair;
A seeming child in everything,
Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms,
As Nature wears the smile of Spring
When sinking into Summer's arms.
A mind re... | Memories |
William Ernest Henley | A black and glassy float, opaque and still,
The loch, at furthest ebb supine in sleep,
Reversing, mirrored in its luminous deep
The calm grey skies; the solemn spurs of hill;
Heather, and corn, and wisps of loitering haze;
The wee white cots, black-hatted, plumed with smoke;
The braes beyond - and when the ripple awoke... | Attadale West Highlands - To A. J. |
Oliver Herford | A Birdie cocked his little head,
Winked his eye at me and said,
"Say, are you a Pussy Willer,
Or just a Kitty-Catty pillar?" | An Inquiry |
Jonathan Swift | A bard, on whom Phoebus his spirit bestow'd,
Resolving t'acknowledge the bounty he owed,
Found out a new method at once of confessing,
And making the most of so mighty a blessing:
To the God he'd be grateful; but mortals he'd chouse,
By making his patron preside in his house;
And wisely foresaw this advantage from then... | On Another Window[1] |
D. H. Lawrence (David Herbert Richards) | A big bud of moon hangs out of the twilight,
Star-spiders spinning their thread
Hang high suspended, withouten respite
Watching us overhead.
Come then under the trees, where the leaf-cloths
Curtain us in so dark
That here we're safe from even the ermin-moth's
Flitting remark.
Here in this swarthy, secret tent,
Where bl... | Liaison |
Charles Baudelaire | I.
A Being, a Form, an Idea
Having fallen from out of the blue
Into the Stygian slough
Where no eye of the sky ever sees;
An impetuous Angel, allured
By the love of the twisted and mean,
In the depths of a nightmarish dream
Like a swimmer who struggles for shore,
Contending in wretched distress
With a whirlpool that sw... | The Irremediable |
Jean de La Fontaine | [1]
A beldam kept two spinning maids,
Who plied so handily their trades,
Those spinning sisters down below
Were bunglers when compared with these.
No care did this old woman know
But giving tasks as she might please.
No sooner did the god of day
His glorious locks enkindle,
Than both the wheels began to play,
And from ... | The Old Woman And Her Two Servants. |
Gilbert Keith Chesterton | A bird flew out at the break of day
From the nest where it had curled,
And ere the eve the bird had set
Fear on the kings of the world.
The first tree it lit upon
Was green with leaves unshed;
The second tree it lit upon
Was red with apples red;
The third tree it lit upon
Was barren and was brown,
Save for a dead man n... | The Ballad Of God-Makers |
Walt Whitman | A batter'd, wreck'd old man,
Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home,
Pent by the sea, and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months,
Sore, stiff with many toils, sicken'd, and nigh to death,
I take my way along the island's edge,
Venting a heavy heart.
I am too full of woe!
Haply, I may not live another day;... | Prayer Of Columbus |
Madison Julius Cawein | A blown white bubble buoyed zenith-ward,
Up from the tremulous East the round moon swung
Mist-murky, and the unsocial stars that thronged,
Hot with the drought, thick down the empty West,
Winked thirstily; no wind to rouse the leaves,
That o'er the glaring road lolled palpitant,
Withered and whitened of the weary dust
... | The King. |
John Clare | A beanfield full in blossom smells as sweet
As Araby, or groves of orange flowers;
Black-eyed and white, and feathered to one's feet,
How sweet they smell in morning's dewy hours!
When seething night is left upon the flowers,
And when morn's sun shines brightly o'er the field,
The bean bloom glitters in the gems of sho... | The Beanfield |
Jonathan Swift | WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1715, ON AN ATTEMPT TO REPEAL THE TEST ACT
A bitch, that was full pregnant grown
By all the dogs and curs in town,
Finding her ripen'd time was come,
Her litter teeming from her womb,
Went here, and there, and everywhere,
To find an easy place to lay her.
At length to Music's house[2] she came,
And ... | The Fable Of The Bitches[1] |
Joseph Rodman Drake | A beam upon the myrtle fell
From dewy evening's purest sky,
'Twas like the glance I love so well,
Dear Eva, from thy moonlight eye.
I looked around the summer grove,
On every tree its lustre shone;
For all had felt that look of love
The silly myrtle deemed its own.
Eva! behold thine image there,
As fair, as false thy g... | To Eva. |
Jean de La Fontaine | [1]
A bird, with plum'd arrow shot,
In dying case deplored her lot:
'Alas!' she cried, 'the anguish of the thought!
This ruin partly by myself was brought!
Hard-hearted men! from us to borrow
What wings to us the fatal arrow!
But mock us not, ye cruel race,
For you must often take our place.'
The work of half the human... | The Bird Wounded By An Arrow. |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | A baby went to heaven while it slept,
And, waking, missed its mother's arms, and wept.
Those angel tear-drops, falling earthward through
God's azure skies, into the turquoise grew. | Turquoise |
Madison Julius Cawein | A beardless crew we launched our little boat;
Laughed at its lightness; joyed to see it float,
Veer in the wind, and, with the freshening gale,
Bend o'er the foaming prow the swollen sail.
No fears were ours within that stanch-built barque;
No fears were ours 'though all the west was dark,
And overhead were unknown sta... | Mariners |
Madison Julius Cawein | A barren field o'ergrown with thorn and weed
It stays for him who waits for help from God:
Only the soul that makes a plough of Need
Shall know what blossoms underneath its sod. | Adversity |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.
And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
To let a beetle pass.
He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad, --
They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
He st... | In The Garden. |
End of preview. Expand in Data Studio
Overview
This dataset is a collection of approximately 38,500 poems from https://www.public-domain-poetry.com/.
Language
The language of this dataset is English.
License
All data in this dataset is public domain, which means you should be able to use it for anything you want, as long as you aren't breaking any law in the process of doing so.
- Downloads last month
- 375
Models trained or fine-tuned on DanFosing/public-domain-poetry