OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Collected poems of Rupert Brooke/Mary and Gabriel

​ MARY AND GABRIEL
Young Mary, loitering once her garden way, Felt a warm splendour grow in the April day, As wine that blushes water through. And soon, Out of the gold air of the afternoon, One knelt before her: hair he had, or fire, Bound back above his ears with golden wire, Baring the eager marble of his face. Not man's nor woman's was the immortal grace Rounding the limbs beneath that robe of white, And lighting the proud eyes with changeless light, Incurious. Calm as his wings, and fair, That presence filled the garden. She stood there, Saying, "What would you, Sir?" He told his word, "Blessed art thou of women!" Half she heard, Hands folded and face bowed, half long had known, The message of that clear and holy tone, That fluttered hot sweet sobs about her heart; Such serene tidings moved such human smart. Her breath came quick as little flakes of snow. Her hands crept up her breast. She did but know It was not hers. She felt a trembling stir Within her body, a will too strong for her That held and filled and mastered all. With eyes Closed, and a thousand soft short broken sighs, She gave submission; fearful, meek, and glad. . . .
​She wished to speak. Under her breasts she had Such multitudinous burnings, to and fro, And throbs not understood; she did not know If they were hurt or joy for her; but only That she was grown strange to herself, half lonely, All wonderful, filled full of pains to come And thoughts she dare not think, swift thoughts and dumb, Human, and quaint, her own, yet very far, Divine, dear, terrible, familiar . . . Her heart was faint for telling; to relate Her limbs' sweet treachery, her strange high estate, Over and over, whispering, half revealing, Weeping; and so find kindness to her healing. 'Twixt tears and laughter, panic hurrying her, She raised her eyes to that fair messenger. He knelt unmoved, immortal; with his eyes Gazing beyond her, calm to the calm skies; Radiant, untroubled in his wisdom, kind. His sheaf of lilies stirred not in the wind. How should she, pitiful with mortality, Try the wide peace of that felicity With ripples of her perplexed shaken heart, And hints of human ecstasy, human smart, And whispers of the lonely weight she bore, And how her womb within was hers no more And at length hers? Being tired, she bowed her head; And said, "So be it!" The great wings were spread ​Showering glory on the fields, and fire. The whole air, singing, bore him up, and higher, Unswerving, unreluctant. Soon he shone A gold speck in the gold skies; then was gone.
The air was colder, and grey. She stood alone.
# The Collected poems of Rupert Brooke/Mummia

​ MUMMIA
As those of old drank mummia To fire their limbs of lead, Making dead kings from Africa Stand pandar to their bed;
Drunk on the dead, and medicined With spiced imperial dust, In a short night they reeled to find Ten centuries of lust.
So I, from paint, stone, tale, and rhyme, Stuffed love's infinity, And sucked all lovers of all time To rarify ecstasy.
Helen's the hair shuts out from me Verona's livid skies; Gypsy the lips I press; and see Two Antonys in your eyes.
The unheard invisible lovely dead Lie with us in this place, And ghostly hands above my head Close face to straining face;
​Their blood is wine along our limbs; Their whispering voices wreathe Savage forgotten drowsy hymns Under the names we breathe;
Woven from their tomb, and one with it, The night wherein we press; Their thousand pitchy pyres have lit Your flaming nakedness.
For the uttermost years have cried and clung To kiss your mouth to mine; And hair long dust was caught, was flung, Hand shaken to hand divine,
And Life has fired, and Death not shaded, All Time's uncounted bliss, And the height o' the world has flamed and faded, Love, that our love be this!
# The Collected poems of Rupert Brooke/Jealousy

​ JEALOUSY
When I see you, who were so wise and cool, Gazing with silly sickness on that fool You've given your love to, your adoring hands Touch his so intimately that each understands, I know, most hidden things; and when I know Your holiest dreams yield to the stupid bow Of his red lips, and that the empty grace Of those strong legs and arms, that rosy face, Has beaten your heart to such a flame of love, That you have given him every touch and move, Wrinkle and secret of you, all your life, —Oh! then I know I'm waiting, lover-wife, For the great time when love is at a close, And all its fruit's to watch the thickening nose And sweaty neck and dulling face and eye, That are yours, and you, most surely, till you die! Day after day you'll sit with him and note The greasier tie, the dingy wrinkling coat; As prettiness turns to pomp, and strength to fat, And love, love, love to habit!
​And after that, When all that's fine in man is at an end, And you, that loved young life and clean, must tend A foul sick fumbling dribbling body and old, When his rare lips hang flabby and can't hold Slobber, and you're enduring that worst thing, Senility 's queasy furtive love-making, And searching those dear eyes for human meaning, Propping the bald and helpless head, and cleaning A scrap that life's flung by, and love's forgotten,— Then you'll be tired; and passion dead and rotten; And he'll be dirty, dirty! O lithe and free And lightfoot, that the poor heart cries to see, That's how I'll see your man and you!— But you —Oh, when that time comes, you'll be dirty too!
# The Collected poems of Rupert Brooke/Lines Written in the Belief That the Ancient Roman Festival of the Dead Was Called Ambarvalia

​ LINES WRITTEN IN THE BELIEF THAT THE ANCIENT ROMAN FESTIVAL OF THE DEAD WAS CALLED AMBARVALIA
Swings the way still by hollow and hill, And all the world's a song; "She's far," it sings me, "but fair," it rings me, "Quiet," it laughs, "and strong!"
Oh! spite of the miles and years between us, Spite of your chosen part, I do remember; and I go With laughter in my heart.
So above the little folk that know not, Out of the white hill-town, High up I clamber; and I remember; And watch the day go down.
Gold is my heart, and the world's golden, And one peak tipped with light; And the air lies still about the hill With the first fear of night;
​Till mystery down the soundless valley Thunders, and dark is here; And the wind blows, and the light goes, And the night is full of fear,
And I know, one night, on some far height, In the tongue I never knew, I yet shall hear the tidings clear From them that were friends of you.
They'll call the news from hill to hill, Dark and uncomforted, Earth and sky and the winds; and I Shall know that you are dead.
I shall not hear your trentals, Nor eat your arval bread; For the kin of you will surely do Their duty by the dead.
Their little dull greasy eyes will water; They'll paw you, and gulp afresh. They'll sniffle and weep, and their thoughts will creep Like flies on the cold flesh.
They will put pence on your grey eyes, Bind up your fallen chin, And lay you straight, the fools that loved you Because they were your kin.
​They will praise all the bad about you, And hush the good away, And wonder how they'll do without you, And then they'll go away.
But quieter than one sleeping, And stranger than of old, You will not stir for weeping, You will not mind the cold;
But through the night the lips will laugh not, The hands will be in place, And at length the hair be lying still About the quiet face.
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief, And dim and decorous mirth, With ham and sherry, they'll meet to bury The lordliest lass of earth.
The little dead hearts will tramp ungrieving Behind lone-riding you, The heart so high, the heart so living, Heart that they never knew.
I shall not hear your trentals, Nor eat your arval bread, Nor with smug breath tell lies of death To the unanswering dead.
​With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief, The folk who loved you not Will bury you, and go wondering Back home. And you will rot.
But laughing and half-way up to heaven, With wind and hill and star, I yet shall keep, before I sleep, Your Ambarvalia.
# The Collected poems of Rupert Brooke/Menelaus and Helen

​ MENELAUS AND HELEN
I
Hot through Troy's ruin Menelaus broke To Priam's palace, sword in hand, to sate On that adulterous whore a ten years' hate And a king's honour. Through red death, and smoke, And cries, and then by quieter ways he strode, Till the still innermost chamber fronted him. He swung his sword, and crashed into the dim Luxurious bower, flaming like a god.
High sat white Helen, lonely and serene. He had not remembered that she was so fair, And that her neck curved down in such a way; And he felt tired. He flung the sword away, And kissed her feet, and knelt before her there, The perfect Knight before the perfect Queen.
II
So far the poet. How should he behold That journey home, the long connubial years? He does not tell you how white Helen bears Child on legitimate child, becomes a scold, Haggard with virtue. Menelaus bold Waxed garrulous, and sacked a hundred Troys 'Twixt noon and supper. And her golden voice Got shrill as he grew deafer. And both were old.
​Often he wonders why on earth he went Troyward, or why poor Paris ever came. Oft she weeps, gummy-eyed and impotent; Her dry shanks twitch at Paris' mumbled name. So Menelaus nagged; and Helen cried; And Paris slept on by Scamander side.
# The Chimney-Corner for 1866

A work published in nine parts in The Atlantic Monthly, volumes 17 and 18.
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
* "Part I" in The Atlantic Monthly, 17 (99) (January, 1866)
* "Part II" in The Atlantic Monthly, 17 (100) (February, 1866)
* "Part III" in The Atlantic Monthly, 17 (101) (March, 1866)
* "Part IV" in The Atlantic Monthly, 17 (102) (April, 1866)
* "Part V" in The Atlantic Monthly, 17 (103) (May, 1866)
* "Part VI" in The Atlantic Monthly, 17 (104) (June, 1866)
* "Part VII" in The Atlantic Monthly, 18 (105) (July, 1866)
* "Part VIII" in The Atlantic Monthly, 18 (106) (August, 1866)
* "Part IX" in The Atlantic Monthly, 18 (107) (September, 1866)
# The Chimney Sweeper

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Chimney Sweeper."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* The Chimney Sweeper (1789), a poem by William Blake published in Songs of Innocence.
* The Chimney Sweeper (1794), a poem by William Blake published in Songs of Experience.
# The Chimney-Sweeper

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Chimney-Sweeper."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* The Chimney Sweeper (1789), a poem by William Blake published in Songs of Innocence.
* The Chimney Sweeper (1794), a poem by William Blake published in Songs of Experience.
# The Chimera

From French La Chimère
A young chimera at my goblet’s brim
 Gave sweetest kiss amid the orgy’s spell.
Emerald her eyes, and to her haunches slim
 The golden torrent of her tresses fell.
Her shoulders fluttering pinions did bedeck.
 I sprang upon her back, for travel fain,
And toward me bending firm her lovely neck,
 I plunged my tightening fingers in her mane.
She struggled madly; but I clung, austere,
 With iron knees I crushed her flanks to me.
Then softly came her voice, and silver-clear:  “Whither, then, master, shall I carry thee?”
To farthest edge of all eternal things,
 Beyond the sun, beyond the bounds of space.
But weary ere the end shall be thy wings,—
 For I would see my vision face to face!
# The Calf (Burns)

* "The Calf", in The Beauties of Burn's Poems (1819), a chapbook printed in Falkirk
* "The Calf", in The Poetical Works of Robert Burns (1887), edited by Alexander Smith
# The Caledonian: Dickey

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
17 U.S. 100
The Caledonian: Dickey

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Calf Path

One day, through the primeval wood, A calf walked home, as good calves should; But made a trail all bent askew, A crooked trail as all calves do.
Since then two hundred years have fled, And, I infer, the calf is dead. But still he left behind his trail, And thereby hangs my moral tale.
The trail was taken up next day By a lone dog that passed that way; And then a wise bell-wether sheep Pursued the trail o'er vale and steep, And drew the flock behind him, too, As good bell-wethers always do.
And from that day, o'er hill and glade, Through those old woods a path was made; And many men wound in and out, And dodged, and turned, and bent about And uttered words of righteous wrath Because ‘twas such a crooked path. But still they followed -- do not laugh -- The first migrations of that calf, And through this winding wood-way stalked, Because he wobbled when he walked.
This forest path became a lane, That bent, and turned, and turned again; This crooked lane became a road, Where many a poor horse with his load Toiled on beneath the burning sun, And traveled some three miles in one. And thus a century and a half They trod the footsteps of that calf. The years passed on in swiftness fleet, The road became a village street, And this, before men were aware, A city's crowded thoroughfare; And soon the central street was this Of a renowned metropolis; And men two centuries and a half Trod in the footsteps of that calf.
Each day a hundred thousand rout Followed the zigzag calf about; And o'er his crooked journey went The traffic of a continent. A hundred thousand men were led By one calf near three centuries dead. They followed still his crooked way, And lost one hundred years a day; For thus such reverence is lent To well-established precedent.
A moral lesson this might teach, Were I ordained and called to preach; For men are prone to go it blind Along the calf-paths of the mind, And work away from sun to sun To do what other men have done. They follow in the beaten track, And out and in, and forth and back, And still their devious course pursue, To keep the path that others do.
They keep the path a sacred groove, Along which all their lives they move. But how the wise old wood-gods laugh, Who saw the first primeval calf! Ah! many things this tale might teach -- But I am not ordained to preach.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Californian/Volume 1

contents: (transcription project)
* Issue 1 (transcription project)
* Issue 2 (transcription project)
* Issue 3 IA
* Issue 4 IA
* Issue 5 IA
* Issue 6 IA
# The Californian/Volume 1/Issue 1

* The Dramatic in My Destiny
* Why They Lynched Him
# The Californian/Volume 1/Issue 2

* In the Lava Beds
# The Cruise of the Dazzler/Foreword
## Foreword

Tempting boys to be what they should be--giving them in wholesome form what they want--that is the purpose and power of Scouting. To help parents and leaders of youth secure _books boys like best_ that are also best for boys, the Boy Scouts of America organized EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY. The books included, formerly sold at prices ranging from $1.50 to $2.00 but, by special arrangement with the several publishers interested, are now sold in the EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY Edition at $1.00 per volume.
The books of EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY were selected by the Library Commission of the Boy Scouts of America, consisting of George F. Bowerman, Librarian, Public Library of the District of Columbia; Harrison W. Craver, Director, Engineering Societies Library, New York City; Claude G. Leland, Superintendent, Bureau of Libraries, Board of Education, New York City; Edward F. Stevens, Librarian, Pratt Institute Free Library, Brooklyn, N.Y., and Franklin K. Mathiews, Chief Scout Librarian. Only such books were chosen by the Commission as proved to be, by _a nation wide canvas_, most in demand by the boys themselves. Their popularity is further attested by the fact that in the EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY Edition, more than a million and a quarter copies of these books have already been sold.
We know so well, are reminded so often of the worth of the good book and great, that too often we fail to observe or understand the influence for good of a boy's recreational reading. Such books may influence him for good or ill as profoundly as his play activities, of which they are a vital part. The needful thing is to find stories in which the heroes have the characteristics boys so much admire--unquenchable courage, immense resourcefulness, absolute fidelity, conspicuous greatness. We believe the books of EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY measurably well meet this challenge.
BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA,
James E. West
Chief Scout Executive.
# The Book of the Apple, ascribed to Aristotle

JOURNAL OF THE ROYAL ASIATIC SOCIETY.
ART. V. — The Book of the Apple, ascribed to Aristotle. Edited in Persian and English by D. S. Margoliouth.
* [A pseudo-Aristotelian treatise...]
* Remarks on the Arabic version of the Metaphysics of Theophrastus
* كتاب التفاحة
* The Book of the Apple
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1940, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 83 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The British Grenadiers (1802)/O the Days when I was Young

O the DAYS when I was YOUNG.
# The British Grenadiers (1802)/Queen Mary's Lamentation

QUEEN MARY'S Lamentation.
GLASGOW, Printed by J. & M. Robertson, Saltmarket, 1802
# The British Volunteers

THE
British Volunteers
TO WHICH ARE ADDED,
GOD SAVE THE KING.
MALLY BANN.
TIPPLING JOHN.
JOHNY FAA, the GYPSIE LADDIE.
GLASGOW, Printed by J. & M. ROBERTSON, Saltmarket, 1803
page
* The British Volunteers
* God Save the King
* Mally Bann
* Tippling John
* Johnny Faa, the Gypsie Laddie
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The British Grenadiers (1802)/Invasion Threatened

INVASION THREATENED.
# The British Grenadiers (1802)/The Kind are Young and Fair

The KIND are YOUNG and FAIR.
# The British Tar

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The British Tar."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* The British Tar, poem by John Skinner
* The British Tar, song by W. S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan
# The British Volunteers/Johnny Faa, the Gypsie Laddie

Johnny Faa, the Gypsie Laddie
GLASGOW Printed by J. & M. Robertson, Saltmarket, 1803.
# The British Volunteers/Mally Bann

MALLY BANN
# The British Grenadiers (1802)/The British Grenadiers

The BRITISH GRENADIERS.
# The British Volunteers/God Save the King

GOD SAVE THE KING.
# The Dialogues of Plato (Jowett)/Alcibiades I

Layout 2
Vol. II Front Matter.
Appendix I Preface.
Translator's Introduction.
ALCIBIADES I.
PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE.
| Alcibiades. | Socrates. |
Alcibiades I. Socrates, Alcibiades. Socrates. I dare say that you may be surprised to find, O son of Cleinias, that I, who am your first lover, not having spoken to you for many years, when the rest of the world were wearying you with their attentions, am the last of your lovers who still speaks to you. The cause of my silence has been that I was hindered by a power more than human, of which I will some day explain to you the nature; this impediment has now been removed; I therefore here present myself before you, and I greatly hope that no similar hindrance will again occur. Meanwhile, I have observedThe pride of Alcibiades has been too much for his lovers. that your pride has been too much for the pride of your admirers; they were numerous and high-spirited, but they too much have all run away, overpowered by your superior force of $^{104}$character; not one of them remains. And I want you to understand the reason why you have been too much for them. You think that you have no need of them or of any other man, for you have great possessions and lack nothing, beginning with the body, and ending with the soul. In the first place, you say to yourself that you are the fairest and tallest of the citizens, and this every one who has eyes may see to be true; in the second place, that you are among the noblest of them, highly connected both on the father's and the mother's side, and sprung from one of the most distinguished families in your own state, which is the greatest in Hellas, and having many friends and kinsmen of the best sort, who can assist you when in need; and there is one ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/471 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/472 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/473 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/474 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/475 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/476 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/477 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/478 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/479 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/480 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/481 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/482 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/483 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/484 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/485 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/486 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/487 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/488 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/489 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/490 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/491 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/492 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/493 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/494 ​Page:The Dialogues of Plato v. 2.djvu/495
# The Dialog Between the Soul and Body

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Soul O who shall, from this Dungeon, raise A Soul inslav'd so many ways? With bolts of Bones, that fetter'd stands In Feet; and manacled in Hands. Here blinded with an Eye; and there, Deaf with the drumming of an Ear. A Soul hung up, as 'twere, in Chains Of Nerves, and Arteries, and Veins. Tortur'd, besides each other part, In a vain Head, and double Heart.
Body O who shall me deliver whole, From bonds of this Tyrannic Soul? Which, stretcht upright, impales me so, That mine own Precipice I go; And warms and moves this needless Frame: (A Fever could but do the same.) And, wanting where its spite to try, Has made me live to let me die. A Body that could never rest, Since this ill Spirit it possest.
Soul What Magic could me thus confine Within another's Grief to pine? Where whatsoever it complain, I feel, that cannot feel, the pain. And all my care its self employs, That to preserve, which me destroys: Constrain'd not only to endure Diseases, but what's worse, the Cure: And ready oft the port to gain, And Shipwrackt into Health again.
Body But Physic yet could never reach The maladies thou me dost teach; Whom the first Cramp of Hope dost tear: And then the Palsy shakes of Fear. The Pestilence of Love does heat: Or Hatred's hidden Ulcer eat. Joy's cheerful Madness does perplex: Or Sorrow's other Madness vex. Which Knowledge forces me to know, And Memory will not forgo. What but a Soul could have the wit To build me up for Sin so fit? So Architects do square and hew, Green Trees that in the Forest grew.
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
Source: http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/marvell/soulbody.htm