OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Harmonium (Stevens)/Palace of the Babies

First published 1916
Palace of the Babies
The disbeliever walked the moonlit place,
Outside of gates of hammered serafin,
Observing the moon-blotches on the walls.
The yellow rocked across the still façades,
Or else sat spinning on the pinnacles,
While he imagined humming sounds and sleep.
The walker in the moonlight walked alone,
And each blank window of the building balked
His loneliness and what was in his mind:
If in a shimmering room the babies came,
Drawn close by dreams of fledgling wing,
It was because night nursed them in its fold.
Night nursed not him in whose dark mind
The clambering wings of birds of black revolved,
Making harsh torment of the solitude.
The walker in the moonlight walked alone,
And in his heart his disbelief lay cold.
His broad-brimmed hat came close upon his eyes.
# Harmonium (Stevens)/Peter Quince at the Clavier

Peter Quince at the Clavier
I
Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the self-same sounds
On my spirit make a music, too.
Music is feeling, then, not sound;
And thus it is that what I feel,
Here in this room, desiring you,
Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,
Is music. It is like the strain
Waked in the elders by Susanna;
Of a green evening, clear and warm,
She bathed in her still garden, while
The red-eyed elders, watching, felt
The basses of their beings throb
In witching chords, and their thin blood
Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna.
II
In the green water, clear and warm,
Susanna lay. ​She searched
The touch of springs,
And found
Concealed imaginings.
She sighed,
For so much melody.
Upon the bank, she stood
In the cool
Of spent emotions.
She felt, among the leaves,
The dew
Of old devotions.
She walked upon the grass,
Still quavering.
The winds were like her maids,
On timid feet,
Fetching her woven scarves,
Yet wavering.
A breath upon her hand
Muted the night.
She turned—
A cymbal crashed,
And roaring horns.
III
Soon, with a noise like tambourines,
Came her attendant Byzantines.
They wondered why Susanna cried
Against the elders by her side; ​And as they whispered, the refrain
Was like a willow swept by rain.
Anon, their lamps' uplifted flame
Revealed Susanna and her shame.
And then, the simpering Byzantines
Fled, with a noise like tambourines.
IV
Beauty is momentary in the mind—
The fitful tracing of a portal;
But in the flesh it is immortal.
The body dies; the body's beauty lives.
So evenings die, in their green going,
A wave, interminably flowing.
So gardens die, their meek breath scenting
The cowl of winter, done repenting.
So maidens die, to the auroral
Celebration of a maiden's choral.
Susanna's music touched the bawdy strings
Of those white elders; but, escaping,
Left only Death's ironic scraping.
Now, in its immortality, it plays
On the clear viol of her memory,
And makes a constant sacrament of praise.
# Gammer Gurton's garland of nursery songs and Toby Tickle's collection of riddles/Miser

MISER.
A wretch there is, whose growing wealth
 But serves to make him poorer still;
And tho' his chests their thousands boast,
 They cannot once his belly fill.
# Gammer Gurton's garland of nursery songs and Toby Tickle's collection of riddles/The cuckoo

THE CUCKOO.
The Cuckoo's a bonny bird,
She sings as she flies,
She brings us good tidings,
And tells us no lies.
She sucks little birds' eggs
To make her voice clear,
And never cries Cuckoo!
Till spring time of the year.
# Gammer Gurton's garland of nursery songs and Toby Tickle's collection of riddles/Goosey

GOOSEY.
Goosey, goosey gander,
Whither dost thou wander,
Up stairs and down stairs,
And in my lady's chamber.
There I met an old man
That would not say his prayers,
I took him by the left leg,
And threw him down stairs.
# Gammer Gurton's garland of nursery songs and Toby Tickle's collection of riddles/Rules for daily practice

Rules for Daily Practice.
Soon as the morn salutes your eyes,
And from sweet sleep refresh'd you rise,
Think on the Author of the light,
And praise him for the glorious sight.
Take not at night the least repose,
Ere you to Heav'n your soul disclose;
Consider how you've spent the day,
And for Divine protection pray.
# Gammer Gurton's garland of nursery songs and Toby Tickle's collection of riddles/Strawberries

STRAWBERRIES.
The man in the wilderness asked me,
How many strawberries grew in the sea?
I answered him as I thought good,
As many red herrings as grew in the wood.
# Gammer Gurton's garland of nursery songs and Toby Tickle's collection of riddles/Hay-maker

HAY-MAKER.
There was a little boy went into a field,
 And lay down on some hay,
An owl came out and flew about,
 And the little boy ran away.
Fee, Faw, Fum,
I smell the blood of an earthly man,
Let him be alive or dead,
Off goes his head.
# Gammer Gurton's garland of nursery songs and Toby Tickle's collection of riddles/Ship

SHIP.
I fly to many foreign parts,
Assisted by my spreading wings;
 My body holds an hundred hearts.
Nay, I will tell you stranger things:
 When I am not in haste I ride,
And then I mend my pace anon;
 I issue fire out from my side;
Ye British youths this riddle con.
# Gammer Gurton's garland of nursery songs and Toby Tickle's collection of riddles/The alphabet

THE ALPHABET.
Altho' we are but twenty-seven,
 We change to millions too;
Altho' we cannot speak a word,
 We tell what others do.
# Gammer Gurton's garland of nursery songs and Toby Tickle's collection of riddles/Ride away

RIDE AWAY.
Ride away, ride away, Johnny shall ride,
And he shall have pussy cat tied to one side,
And he shall have little dog tied to the other,
And Johnny shall ride to see his godmother.
# Flint and Feather (1914)/Part 1/Ojistoh

OJISTOH
I am Ojistoh, I am she, the wife Of him whose name breathes bravery and life And courage to the tribe that calls him chief. I am Ojistoh, his white star, and he Is land, and lake, and sky—and soul to me.
Ah! but they hated him, those Huron braves, Him who had flung their warriors into graves, Him who had crushed them underneath his heel, Whose arm was iron, and whose heart was steel To all—save me, Ojistoh, chosen wife Of my great Mohawk, white star of his life.
Ah! but they hated him, and councilled long With subtle witchcraft how to work him wrong; How to avenge their dead, and strike him where His pride was highest, and his fame most fair. Their hearts grew weak as women at his name: They dared no war-path since my Mohawk came With ashen bow, and flinten arrow-head To pierce their craven bodies; but their dead Must be avenged. Avenged? They dared not walk In day and meet his deadly tomahawk; They dared not face his fearless scalping knife; So—Niyoh!—then they thought of me, his wife.
​O! evil, evil face of them they sent With evil Huron speech: "Would I consent To take of wealth? be queen of all their tribe? Have wampum ermine?" Back I flung the bribe Into their teeth, and said, "While I have life Know this—Ojistoh is the Mohawk's wife."
Wah! how we struggled! But their arms were strong. They flung me on their pony's back, with thong Round ankle, wrist, and shoulder. Then upleapt The one I hated most: his eye he swept Over my misery, and sneering said, "Thus, fair Ojistoh, we avenge our dead."
And we two rode, rode as a sea wind-chased, I, bound with buckskin to his hated waist, He, sneering, laughing, jeering, while he lashed The horse to foam, as on and on we dashed. Plunging through creek and river, bush and trail, On, on we galloped like a northern gale. At last, his distant Huron fires aflame We saw, and nearer, nearer still we came.
I, bound behind him in the captive's place, Scarcely could see the outline of his face. I smiled, and laid my cheek against his back: "Loose thou my hands," I said. "This pace let slack. Forget we now that thou and I are foes. I like thee well, and wish to clasp thee close; I like the courage of thine eye and brow; I like thee better than my Mohawk now."
​He cut the cords; we ceased our maddened haste I wound my arms about his tawny waist; My hand crept up the buckskin of his belt; His knife hilt in my burning palm I felt; One hand caressed his cheek, the other drew The weapon softly—"I love you, love you," I whispered, "love you as my life." And—buried in his back his scalping knife.
Ha! how I rode, rode as a sea wind-chased, Mad with sudden freedom, mad with haste, Back to my Mohawk and my home. I lashed That horse to foam, as on and on I dashed. Plunging thro' creek and river, bush and trail, On, on I galloped like a northern gale. And then my distant Mohawk's fires aflame I saw, as nearer, nearer still I came, My hands all wet, stained with a life's red dye, But pure my soul, pure as those stars on high— "My Mohawk's pure white star, Ojistoh, still am I."
# Flint and Feather (1914)/Part 1/Penseroso

PENSEROSO
Soulless is all humanity to me To-night. My keenest longing is to be Alone, alone with God's grey earth that seems Pulse of my pulse and consort of my dreams.
To-night my soul desires no fellowship, Or fellow-being; crave I but to slip Thro' space on space, till flesh no more can bind, And I may quit for aye my fellow kind.
Let me but feel athwart my cheek the lash Of whipping wind, but hear the torrent dash Adown the mountain steep, 'twere more my choice Than touch of human hand, than human voice.
Let me but wander on the shore night-stilled, Drinking its darkness till my soul is filled; The breathing of the salt sea on my hair, My outstretched hands but grasping empty air.
Let me but feel the pulse of Nature's soul Athrob on mine, let seas and thunders roll O'er night and me; sands whirl; winds, waters beat; For God's grey earth has no cheap counterfeit.
# Flint and Feather (1914)/Part 1/Rainfall

RAINFALL
From out the west, where darkling storm-clouds float, The 'waking wind pipes soft its rising note.
From out the west, o'erhung with fringes grey, The wind preludes with sighs its roundelay,
Then blowing, singing, piping, laughing loud, It scurries on before the grey storm-cloud;
Across the hollow and along the hill It whips and whirls among the maples, till
With boughs upbent, and green of leaves blown wide, The silver shines upon their underside.
A gusty freshening of humid air, With showers laden, and with fragrance rare;
And now a little sprinkle, with a dash Of great cool drops that fall with sudden splash;
Then over field and hollow, grass and grain, The loud, crisp whiteness of the nearing rain.
# Flint and Feather (1914)/Part 1/Moonset

MOONSET
Idles the night wind through the dreaming firs, That waking murmur low, As some lost melody returning stirs The love of long ago; And through the far, cool distance, zephyr fanned. The moon is sinking into shadow-land.
The troubled night-bird, calling plaintively, Wanders on restless wing; The cedars, chanting vespers to the sea, Await its answering, That comes in wash of waves along the strand, The while the moon slips into shadow-land.
O! soft responsive voices of the night I join your minstrelsy, And call across the fading silver light As something calls to me; I may not all your meaning understand, But I have touched your soul in shadow-land.
# Flint and Feather (1914)/Part 1/Nocturne

NOCTURNE
Night of Mid-June, in heavy vapours dying, Like priestly hands thy holy touch is lying Upon the world's wide brow; God-like and grand all nature is commanding The "peace that passes human understanding"; I, also, feel it now.
What matters it to-night, if one life treasure I covet, is not mine! Am I to measure The gifts of Heaven's decree By my desires? O! life for ever longing For some far gift, where many gifts are thronging, God wills, it may not be.
Am I to learn that longing, lifted higher, Perhaps will catch the gleam of sacred fire That shows my cross is gold? That underneath this cross—however lowly, A jewel rests, white, beautiful and holy, Whose worth can not be told.
Like to a scene I watched one day in wonder:— A city, great and powerful, lay under A sky of grey and gold; The sun outbreaking in his farewell hour, Was scattering afar a yellow shower Of light, that aureoled
With brief hot touch, so marvellous and shining, A hundred steeples on the sky out-lining, Like network threads of fire; Above them all, with halo far outspreading, I saw a golden cross in glory heading A consecrated spire:
I only saw its gleaming form uplifting, Against the clouds of grey to seaward drifting, And yet I surely know Beneath the seen, a great unseen is resting, For while the cross that pinnacle is cresting, An Altar lies below. ·····Night of Mid-June, so slumberous and tender, Night of Mid-June, transcendent in thy splendour Thy silent wings enfold And hush my longing, as at thy desire All colour fades from round that far-off spire, Except its cross of gold.
# Flint and Feather (1914)/Part 1/Re-Voyage

RE-VOYAGE
What of the days when we two dreamed together? Days marvellously fair, As lightsome as a skyward floating feather Sailing on summer air— Summer, summer, that came drifting through Fate's hand to me, to you.
What of the days, my dear? I sometimes wonder If you too wish this sky Could be the blue we sailed so softly under, In that sun-kissed July; Sailed in the warm and yellow afternoon, With hearts in touch and tune.
Have you no longing to re-live the dreaming, Adrift in my canoe? To watch my paddle blade all wet and gleaming Cleaving the waters through? To lie wind-blown and wave-caressed, until Your restless pulse grows still?
Do you not long to listen to the purling Of foam athwart the keel? To hear the nearing rapids softly swirling Among their stones, to feel
The boat's unsteady tremor as it braves The wild and snarling waves?
What need of question, what of your replying? Oh! well I know that you Would toss the world away to be but lying Again in my canoe, In listless indolence entranced and lost, Wave-rocked, and passion tossed.
Ah me! my paddle failed me in the steering Across love's shoreless seas; All reckless, I had ne'er a thought of fearing Such dreary days as these, When through the self-same rapids we dash by, My lone canoe and I.
# Flint and Feather (1914)/Part 1/My English Letter

MY ENGLISH LETTER
When each white moon, her lantern idly swinging, Comes out to join the star night-watching band, Across the grey-green sea, a ship is bringing For me a letter, from the Motherland.
Naught would I care to live in quaint old Britain, These wilder shores are dearer far to me, Yet when I read the words that hand has written, The parent sod more precious seems to be.
Within that folded note I catch the savour Of climes that make the Motherland so fair, Although I never knew the blessed favour That surely lies in breathing English air.
Imagination's brush before me fleeing, Paints English pictures, though my longing eyes Have never known the blessedness of seeing The blue that lines the arch of English skies.
And yet my letter brings the scenes I covet, Framed in the salt sea winds, aye more in dreams I almost see the face that bent above it, I almost touch that hand, so near it seems.
Near, for the very grey-green sea that dashes 'Round these Canadian coasts, rolls out once more To Eastward, and the same Atlantic splashes Her wild white spray on England's distant shore.
Near, for the same young moon so idly swinging Her threadlike crescent bends the selfsame smile On that old land from whence a ship is bringing My message from the transatlantic Isle.
Thus loves my heart that far old country better, Because of those dear words that always come, With love enfolded in each English letter That drifts into my sun-kissed Western home.
# Flint and Feather (1914)/Part 1/Overlooked

OVERLOOKED
Sleep, with her tender balm, her touch so kind, Has passed me by; Afar I see her vesture, velvet-lined, Float silently; O! Sleep, my tired eyes had need of thee! Is thy sweet kiss not meant to-night for me?
Peace, with the blessings that I longed for so, Has passed me by; Where'er she folds her holy wings I know All tempests die; O! Peace, my tired soul had need of thee! Is thy sweet kiss denied alone to me?
Love, with her heated touches, passion-stirred, Has passed me by. I called, "O stay thy flight," but all unheard My lonely cry: O! Love, my tired heart had need of thee! Is thy sweet kiss withheld alone from me?
Sleep, sister-twin of Peace, my waking eyes So weary grow! O! Love, thou wanderer from Paradise, Dost thou not know How oft my lonely heart has cried to thee? But Thou, and Sleep, and Peace, come not to me.
# Flint and Feather (1914)/Part 1/Shadow River

SHADOW RIVER
MUSKOKA
A stream of tender gladness, Of filmy sun, and opal tinted skies; Of warm midsummer air that lightly lies In mystic rings, Where softly swings The music of a thousand wings That almost tones to sadness.
Midway 'twixt earth and heaven, A bubble in the pearly air, I seem To float upon the sapphire floor, a dream Of clouds of snow, Above, below, Drift with my drifting, dim and slow, As twilight drifts to even.
The little fern-leaf, bending Upon the brink, its green reflection greets, And kisses soft the shadow that it meets With touch so fine, The border line The keenest vision can't define; So perfect is the blending.
The far, fir trees that cover The brownish hills with needles green and gold, The arching elms o'erhead, vinegrown and old, Repictured are Beneath me far, Where not a ripple moves to mar Shades underneath, or over.
Mine is the undertone; The beauty, strength, and power of the land Will never stir or bend at my command; But all the shade Is marred or made, If I but dip my paddle blade; And it is mine alone.
O! pathless world of seeming! O! pathless life of mine whose deep ideal Is more my own than ever was the real. For others Fame And Love's red flame, And yellow gold: I only claim The shadows and the dreaming.
# Flint and Feather (1914)/Part 1/The Birds' Lullaby

THE BIRDS' LULLABY
I
With shadowy garments, the wilderness through; All day we have carolled, and now would be sleeping, So echo the anthems we warbled to you; While we swing, swing, And your branches sing, And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.
II
Is wooing, is pleading, to hear you reply; And here in your arms we are restfully lying, And longing to dream to your soft lullaby; While we swing, swing, And your branches sing, And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.
III
Your breathing so fragrant, your branches so strong;
Our little nest-cradles are swaying so slowly, While zephyrs are breathing their slumberous song. And we swing, swing, While your branches sing, And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.
# Federal Trade Commission v. Texaco, Inc.

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Federal Trade Commission v. Texaco, Inc.."
* 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.
* Federal Trade Commission v. Texaco, Inc. (381 U.S. 739)
* Federal Trade Commission v. Texaco, Inc. (393 U.S. 223)
# Federal Trade Commission v. Superior Court Trial Lawyers Association/Concurrence Blackmun

* Court Documents
* Case Syllabus
* Opinion of the Court
* Concurring Opinions Brennan Blackmun
Justice BLACKMUN, concurring in part and dissenting in part.
Like Justice BRENNAN, I, too, join Parts I, II, III, and IV, of the Court's opinion. But, while I agree with the reasoning of Justice BRENNAN's dissent, I write separately to express my doubt whether a remand for findings of fact concerning the market power of the Superior Court Trial Lawyers Association (SCTLA or Trial Lawyers) would be warranted in the unique circumstances of this litigation. As Justice BRENNAN notes, the Trial Lawyers' boycott was aimed at the District's courts and legislature, governmental bodies that had the power to terminate the boycott at any time by requiring any or all members of the District Bar-including the members of SCTLA-to represent indigent defendants pro bono. Attorneys are not merely participants in a competitive market for legal services; they are officers of the court. Their duty to serve the public by representing indigent defendants is not only a matter of conscience, but is also enforceable by the government's power to order such representation, either as a condition of practicing law in the District or on pain of contempt. See Powell v. Alabama, 287 U.S. 45, 73, 53 S.Ct. 55, 65, 77 L.Ed. 158 (1932) ("Attorneys are officers of the court, and are bound to render service when required" by court appointment); see also United States v. Accetturo, 842 F.2d 1408, 1412-1413 (CA3 1988); Waters v. Kemp, 845 F.2d 260, 263 (CA11 1988). #fn-s
The Trial Lawyers' boycott thus was a dramatic gesture not fortified by any real economic power. They could not have coerced the District to meet their demands by brute economic force, i.e., by constricting the supply of legal services to drive up the price. Instead, the Trial Lawyers' boycott put the government in a position where it had to make a political choice between exercising its power to break the boycott or agreeing to a rate increase. The factors relevant to this choice were political, not economic: that forcing the lawyers to stop the boycott would have been unpopular, because, as it turned out, public opinion supported the boycott; and that the District officials themselves may not have genuinely opposed the rate increase, and may have welcomed the appearance of a politically expedient "emergency."
I believe that, in this unique market where the government buys services that it could readily compel the sellers to provide, the Trial Lawyers lacked any market power and their boycott could have succeeded only through political persuasion. I therefore would affirm the judgment below insofar as it invokes the United States v. O'Brien 391 U.S. 367, 88 S.Ct. 1673, 20 L.Ed.2d 672 (1968), analysis to preclude application of the per se rule to the Trial Lawyers' boycott, but reverse as to the remand to the FTC for a determination of market power.
# Federal Trade Commission v. Texaco, Inc. (381 U.S. 739)

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
381 U.S. 739
Federal Trade Commission v. Texaco, Inc.
Solicitor General Cox, Assistant Attorney General Orrick, Lionel Kestenbaum, James McI. Henderson, Alvin L. Berman and Louis R. Harding, for petitioner.
Milton Handler and Frederick W. P. Lorenzen, for Texaco, Inc.
Edgar E. Barton and Macdonald Flinn, for B. F. Goodrich Co., respondent.
On Petition for Writ of Certiorari to the United States Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit.
PER CURIAM.

## 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
# Federal Trade Commission v. Sun Oil Company

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, news, Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
371 U.S. 505
Federal Trade Commission v. Sun Oil Company
Argued: Nov. 15, 1962. --- Decided: Jan 14, 1963
Robert B. Hummel, Cleveland, Ohio, for petitioner.
Leonard J. Emmerglick, Washington, D.C., for respondent.
Mr. Justice GOLDBERG delivered the opinion of the Court.

## 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