OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Pictures in Rhyme/The Song

THE SONG
A marvellous voice rang, clear and sweet, through the changes of a song, Rising and falling—to rise at the last in a tone of triumph strong: It spoke of life, it spoke of death, of love, and of love's home, And the soul of the singer thrill'd the crowd, and soar'd through the gilded dome.
Now the voice is dumb, and its echoes lost on the waves of infinite space, While long, lithe grasses shake in the wind o'er the singer's sleeping-place.
The art of the singer is dead and done, And the singer herself has gone; The gilded dome has sunk in decay, And none of that crowd survives to-day— The song lives on alone. ​And he who wrote that wondrous song— Did it bring him wealth and fame? He breathed but in his song to us, For no one knows his name.
# Pictures in Rhyme/Vivienique

Illustrated by Maurice Greiffenhagen
[18] [Img]
VIVIENIQUE
Man's aspirations oft are drown'd in eyes—
Twin wells, their depth as fathomless as full;
Whiles ofttime Honour, lured by woman's sighs—
Bound, fettered fast beneath a woman's rule—
Has from Life's ploughshare turned himself aback,
Mock'd, helpless, down along the limed track,
To breathe his soul out in soft vestibule,
Afar from tented field and council-board.
Folly and sin entail their own reward:
Our noblest aims are wrecked by fingers fair,
"Our noblest aims are wrecked by fingers fair Ambition's shroud, a web of woman's hair."
# Pictures in Rhyme/The Summons of Spring

THE SUMMONS OF SPRING
Gallows that beckon and grin and nod,
And a strong man shrill in his agony:
'The green leaves, See, O mother of God!
The green leaves call me; I cannot die.'
His fingers grip the bars of his cell,
And his thirsty face is turned to the sky,
While his voice comes over the tolling bell:
'The green leaves call me; I cannot die.'
He is dragged down the corridors white and wide,
He is held upright 'neath the hempen ring;
But he heeds not the earnest priest at his side,
For his ears are filled with the summons of Spring.
Then this world slips from under his feet,
And he goes to that other world unshriven,
Where, I trust, when his sins are purged, he may meet
With a fairer Spring in heaven.
# Pictures in Rhyme/Will He Forgive?

WILL HE FORGIVE?
To lip, to laugh, whilst, distant many a mile, He lies under the sod. O God!
My heart is buried with him; only the husk, the shell, This man holds. And yet my mother says: 'It is well— Thou art rich, and should'st rejoice in my choice.'
Compared with this man he was poor, though glorious of soul and face; But a crooked back and mind are accounted small disgrace— To have a shrunken purse is worse.
So, lapped in the splendours of state, I live with a man that I hate— ​Hating myself. Yet I live,
And wonder whether he knows
Under the sunshine and snows,
And whether he will forgive.
# Pictures in Rhyme/The Witches' Warning

THE WITCHES' WARNING
The earl looked seaward over his walls;
But all he saw was a wreath of mist,
And a little black cloud, by the white moon kissed:
So he turned again to his lighted halls.
But the wreath of mist hid an enemy's ships,
As it slowly crept with them into the bay;
And the little cloud rolled up, ragged and grey,
With livid lightning between its lips.
A levin-bolt split the castle keep,
And opened a way for the enemy's sword;
But the Earl still smiled at the witches' word
When they killed him in his sleep.
# Pictures in Rhyme/Under the Snowy Steppes

UNDER THE SNOWY STEPPES
She ruled a wide domain; and he Her steward's son, but just set free On life, and breathing of passion ever, Till under the snowy steppes, adown the silent river, Where the dark pines gather, where their dark plumes quiver, He found a sepulchre.
She loved, and let her fancy range; Such woman's love— the love of change, Tired ere well begun, and constant never. Under the snowy steppes, down the silent river, Where the dark pines gather, where their dark plumes quiver, Is a sepulchre.
She gazed upon that boyish face, Ensnared him with voluptuous grace, Bound body and soul her prisoner. ​Under the snowy steppes, down the silent river, Where the dark pines gather, where their dark plumes quiver, Is his sepulchre.
Her woven meshes interlaced His being; clasped, in sin embraced, He yielded him, willing idolater. Under the snowy steppes, down the silent river, Where the dark pines gather, where their dark plumes quiver, Is his sepulchre.
Her love burnt bright till, gorged, o'er-fed— Love born of lust is soonest dead!— To loose his bonds was her endeavour. Under the snowy steppes, down the silent river, Where the dark pines gather, where their dark plumes quiver, Is his sepulchre.
His love consumed his inmost soul, Resistless, passed beyond control; From his love with life he could not sever. ​Under the snowy steppes, down the silent river, Where the dark pines gather, where their dark plumes quiver, Is his sepulchre.
He urged his love with passionate force; She offered gold, and said, 'One course Is open: depart, and see me never.' Under the snowy steppes, down the silent river, Where the dark pines gather, where their dark plumes quiver, Is his sepulchre.
Then laughed. That laugh, hell-echoed, stirred His bosom's core. She pass'd. He heard That laugh ring on in his ears for ever; Till under the snowy steppes, adown the silent river, Where the dark pines gather, where their dark plumes quiver,
# Pictures in Rhyme/Upon the Sands

UPON THE SANDS
The surf crawled slowly up, and sad, Like some sea-dog which owned his sway, And yet had rent him—sightless, mad, It came and moaned all day.
But there he lay, so still and white; I dared not weep, I thought he slept. The tearless day shrank back from night; I might have woke him had I wept.
The night sank down into the seas, New morning burst upon the skies; And with its first breath on the breeze I stooped and kissed his eyes. ​But when he woke not even then, Although my whispers stirred his hair, I knew he breathed, away from men, A higher and a purer air.
The essence of a Godhead's breath, And that the sleep my darling slept, Was called of us the body's death—
# Pictures in Rhyme/Two Friends I knew

TWO FRIENDS I KNEW
Two men I knew—two friends, who sought a treasure: One was a scholar, one pursued his pleasure.
Both found, or thought they found, that which they sought; In neither instance was their treasure bought.
The scholar wore his gem in all men's sight, Pleased it should glitter, glorying in its light.
The man of social pleasures kept his close, And strictly guarded it within his house.
The scholar's wife shines on him night and day; The other broke her bonds and fled away.
# Pictures in Rhyme/Why?

WHY?
East winds, allying
With autumn austere,
Drive beauty, dying,
Into the mere.
Under the shrill blasts
Chilling the warm blood,
A woman with wrinkles,
Back-bent and doubled,
Is gathering firewood,
Her limbs palsy-troubled.
Woman with wrinkles,
Why art thou here,
And beauty lying
Drowned in the mere?
# Poems (Toke)/A dream

May 23, 1834.
# Poems (Toke)/A wintry scene

Godinton, January 20, 1838.
# Poems (Toke)/Acrostic

March 9, 1833.
# Poems (Toke)/Acrostic (Grey walls! where now for ages passed and gone)

November 24, 1838.
# Poems and Extracts/Fragment (2)

Fragment
So here confined, and but to female clay, Ardelia's soul mistook the rightful way: Whilst the soft breeze of pleasure's tempting air Made her believe felicity was there; And basking in the warmth of early time, To vain amusements dedicate her prime. Ambition next allur'ed her tow'ring eye, For Paradise she heard was plac'd on high. Then thought the Court with all it's glorious show, Was sure above the rest and Paradise below.10 There plac'd too soon the flaming sword appeared Removed those powers, whom justly they rever'd Adher'd too in their wreck, and in their ruin shar'd.
Now by the wheels inevitable round,
With them thrown prostrate to the humble ground No more she takes (instructed by that fall) For fix'd, or worth her thought, this rolling ball: Towards a more certain station she aspires, Unshaken by revolts, and owns no less desires. But all in vain are prayers extatic thoughts,20 Recovered moments, and retracted faults, Retirement, which the world moroseness calls, Abandoned pleasures in monastic walls: These, but at distance towards that purpose tend, The lowly means to an exalted end; Which He must perfect who allots her stay And that, accomplish'd, will direct the way. Pity her restless cares, and weary strife, And point some issue to escaping life; Which so dismissed, no pen or human speech30 The ineffable recess can ever teach: The expanse, the light, the harmony, the throng, The Bride's attendance, and the bridal song,
The numerous mansions, and the immortal tree, No eye, unpurged by Death, must ever see, Or waves which through that wondrous city roll. Rest then content my too impatient soul; Observe but here the easy precepts given, Then wait with chearful hope, till heaven be known in heaven.
# Poems and Extracts

A facsimile of Wordsworth's 1819 album of poems and extracts, including a preface by John Rogers Rees.
Wordsworth, 1839.
POEMS AND EXTRACTS
CHOSEN BY
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
FOR AN ALBUM PRESENTED TO LADY MARY LOWTHER
CHRISTMAS, 1819
PRINTED LITERALLY FROM THE ORIGINAL ALBUM
WITH FACSIMILES
LONDON
HENRY FROWDE
1905
OXFORD: HORACE HART
PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY
Contents
* Preface
* Introduction
* To the Lady Mary Lowther
* "In the Muse's paths I stray"
* Petition for an absolute Retreat
* Song
* "Where is that World to which the fancy flies"
* A Nocturnal Reverie
* Fragment
* Fragment
* From a Poem for the Birthday of the Lady Cathrine Tufton
* Life's Progress
* The Tree
* From a Poem on the Death of the Honble James Thynne younger Son of the Lord Viscount Weymouth
* Hope
* Song
* From a Poem in praise of the invention of Letter Writing
* "Silvia, let us from the crowd retire"
* "O King of Terrors! whose unbounded sway"
* On his Muse
* From "The Mistress of Philarete"
* Funeral Dirge for Marcello
* Ode to Peace
* Hymn on Solitude
* "Thy shades thy silence now be mine"
* Verses
* "Thus safely low, my Friend, thou canst not fall"
* Ode on Solitude
* "And now, perch'd proudly on the topmost spray"
* "Now come, ye Naiads, to the fountains lead"
* "Me though in life's sequestered vale"
* Inscription
* "Throned on the sun's descending car"
* Inscription
* The Wood Nymph
* Sonnet
* Sonnet
* Sonnet
* A Drop of Dew
* St. John the Baptist
* The Ruins of Rome
* "Go lovely Rose!"
* To the young Lady Lucy Sydney
* Sorrow
* Written it is believed, by Miss Warton on the Death of her Father Thomas Warton the Elder
* Epitaph
* Of my dear Son, Gervase Beaumont
* Dr. Doddridge on his Motto
* Lines written by Cap$^{t.}$ James upon his leaving Charlton Island, where many of his Ship's Crew had died during the winter, which they passed there A.D. 1631-2
* "As those we love decay, we die in part"
* To the Lady Margaret Countess of Cumberland
* Lines
* Notes
* Index of first lines
# Poems and Extracts/As those we love decay, we die in part

As those we love decay, we die in part.
String after string is severed from the heart;
'Till loos'n'd life, at last but breathing clay
Without one pang is glad to fall away.
Unhappy he who latest feels the blow,
Whose eyes have wept o'er every friend laid low,
Dragged lingering on from partial death to death,
'Till, dying, all he can resign is breath.
Thomson
# Poems and Extracts/And now, perch'd proudly on the topmost spray

......... And now, perch'd proudly on the topmost spray,
The sooty blackbird chaunts his vespers shrill;
While twilight spreads his robe of sober grey,
And to their bowers the rooks loud cawing wing their way;
And bright behind the Cambrian mountains hoar
Flames the red beam; while on the distant east.
Led by her star, the horned moon looks o'er
The bending forest, and with rays increast
Ascends; while trembling on the dappled west
The purple radience shifts and dies away;10
The willows with a deeper green imprest
Nod o'er the brooks; the brooks with gleamy ray
Glide on, and holy Peace assumes her woodland sway. .........
Sooth'd by the murmurs of a plaintive stream,
A wild romantic dell its fragrance shed;
Safe from the thunder shower and scorching beam
Their faery charms the summer bowers display'd;
Wild by the banks the bashful cowslips spread,
And from the rocks above each ivied seat,19
The spotted foxgloves hung the purple head,
And lowly violets kiss'd the wanderer's feet;
Sure never Hybla's bees rov'd through a wild so sweet.
As winds the streamlet serpentine along,
So leads a solemn walk its bowery way,
The pale-leaved palms and darker limes among.
To where a grotto lone and secret lay;
The yellow broom, where chirp the linnets gay.
Waves round the cave; and to the blue-streaked skies
A shattered rock towers up in fragments grey:
The she-goat from its height the landscape eyes.
And calls her wanderd young, the call each bank replies.31
——————————————"Sir Martyn"
by Julius Mickle
# Poems and Extracts/Fragment (1)

This fragment is the first 16 lines of Enquiry After Peace.
Fragment
Peace! where art thou to be found? Were in all the spacious round, May thy footsteps be pursued? Where may thy calm seats be view'd? On some mountain dost thou lie, Serenely near the ambient sky, Smiling at the clouds below, Where rough storms and tempests grow? Or, in some retired plain, Undisturbed dost thou remain, 10 Where no angry whirlwinds pass Where no floods oppress the grass. High above, or deep below, Fain I thy retreat would know; Fain I thee alone would find Balm to my o'er-wearied mind.
# Poems and Extracts/A Drop of Dew

A Drop of Dew
See how the orient Dew,
Shed from the bosom of the morn,
Into the blowing roses,
Yet careless of its mansion new
For the clear region where 'twas born,
Round-in itself encloses:
And in its little globe's extent
Frames, as it can its native element.
How it the purple flower does slight,
Scarce touching where it lies;10 And gazing back upon the skies
Shines with a mournful light
Like its own tear,
Because so long divided from the sphere.
Restless it rolls and insecure,
Trembling lest it should grow impure;
'Till the warm sun pities its pain,
And to the skies exhales it back again.
Thus the Soul, that drop, that ray
Of the clear fountain of eternal day!20
Could it within the human flower be seen,
Rememb"'ring still it's former height,
Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green;
And recollecting its own light,
Does in its pure and circling thoughts express
The greater heaven in an heaven less.
In how coy a figure wound,
Every way it turns away:
So the world excluding round
Yet receiving-in the day:30
Dark beneath, but bright above,
Here disdaining there in love!
How loose and easy hence to go.
How girt and ready to ascend,
Moving but on a point below,
It all about does upward bend!
——————Andrew Marvel
# Poems and Extracts/A Nocturnal Reverie

A Nocturnal Reverie
In such a night when every louder wind Is to its' distant cavern safe confined, And only gentle Zephyr fans his wings, And lonely Philomel, still waking, sings, Or from some tree, fam'd for the owl's delight, She, hollowing clear directs the wanderer right: In such a night when passing clouds give place, Or thinly veil the heaven's mysterious face; When in some river, overhung with green,
The waving moon and trembling leaves are seen; When freshened grass now bears itself upright, And makes cool banks to pleasing rest invite, Whence springs the woodbine and the bramble-rose, And where the sleepy cowslip sheltered grows;
Whilst now a paler hue the foxglove takes And chequers still with red the dusky brakes: When odours which declined repelling day, Thro' temperate air uninterrupted stray; When darken'ed groves their softest shadows wear And falling waters we distinctly hear; 20 When through the gloom more venerable shows Some ancient Fabric, awful in repose, While sunburnt hills their swarthy looks conceal, And swelling hay-cocks thicken up the vale: When the loos'd horse now, as his pasture leads, Comes slowly grazing through the adjoining meads, Whose stealing pace, and lengthened shade we fear 'Till torn-up forage in his teeth we hear: When nibbling sheep at large pursue their food, And unmolested kine re-chew the cud; 30 When curlews cry beneath the village walls. And to her straggling brood the partridge calls; Their short-lived jubilee the creatures keep.
Which but endures while tyrant man does sleep: When a sedate content the spirit feels, And no fierce light disturbs whilst it reveals; But silent musings urge the mind to seek Something too high for syllables to speak; 'Till the free soul to a compos'edness charm'd. Finding the elements of rage disarmed, 40 O'er all below a solemn quiet grown, Joys in the inferior world, and thinks it like her own:— In such a night let me abroad remain. Till morning breaks and all 's confus'd again; Our cares, our toils, our clamours are renewed, Our pleasures, seldom reach'd, again pursued.
# Poems and Extracts/Dr. Doddridge on his Motto

Dr. Doddridge on his Motto
(Dum vivimus vivamus)
Live while you live, the Epicure will say.
And take the pleasure of the present day:
Live while you live the sacred Preacher cries.
And give to God each moment as it flies.—
Lord in my view let both united be!
I live in pleasure, when I live to Thee.
# Poems and Extracts/Epitaph

Epitaph
The Lady Mary Villiers lies
Under this stone; with weeping eyes
The parents that first gave her birth
And their sad friends lay'd her in earth:
If any of them (Reader) were
Known unto thee, shed a tear,
Or if thyself possess a gem
As dear to thee, as this to them;
Though a stranger to this spot,
Bewail in theirs, thine own hard lot10
For thou perhaps at thy return
Mayest find thy darling in an urn.
# Poems and Extracts/From "The Mistress of Philarete"

From "The Mistress of Philarete"
By George Wither
Sometime I do admire
All men burn not with desire:
Nay I muse her servants are not
Pleading love; but O! they dare not.
And I therefore wonder, why
They do not grow sick and die.
Sure they would do so, but that,
By the ordinance of fate,
There is some concealed thing
So each gazer limiting10
He can see no more of merit,
Than beseems his worth and spirit.
For in her a grace there shines,
That o'er-daring thought confines
Making worthless men despair
To be loved of one so fair.
Yea, the destinies agree,
Some good judgments blind should be, And not gain the power of knowing
Those rare beauties in her growing.20
Reason doth as much imply:
For if every judging eye,
Which beholdeth her should there
Find what excellencies are,
All o'ercome by those perfections, Would be captive to affections.
So, if happiness unblest,
She for lovers should not rest.
What pearls, what rubies can
Seem so lovely fair to man,
As her lips whom he doth love, When in sweet discourse they move, Or her lovelier teeth, the while
She doth bless him with a smile?
Stars indeed fair creatures be;
Yet amongst us where is he
Joys not more the whilst he lies
Sunning in his mistress' eyes,10
Than in all the glimmering light
Of a starry winter's night?
Note the beauty of an eye—
And if aught you praise it by
Leave such passion in your mind
Let my reason's eye be blind.
Mark if ever red or white
Anywhere gave such delight,
As when they have taken place
In a worthy woman's face.20 ****** I must praise her as I may,
Which I do mine own rude way,
Sometime setting forth her glories
By unheard of allegories—
****** Her true beauty leaves behind
Apprehensions in my mind
Of more sweetness, than all art
Or inventions can impart,
Thoughts too deep to be express'd
And too strong to be suppress'd.
"Wither has chosen to bestow upon the Lady whom he commends, the name of Arete, or Virtue; and, assuming to himself the character of Philarete, or Lover of Virtue, there is a sort of propriety in that heaped measure of perfections which he attributes to this partly real and partly allegorical Personage."
Lamb's Essay on the Poetical works of G. Wither.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/My Garden

MY GARDEN
If I could put my woods in song And tell what 's there enjoyed, All men would to my gardens throng, And leave the cities void.
In my plot no tulips blow,— Snow-loving pines and oaks instead; And rank the savage maples grow From Spring's faint flush to Autumn red.
My garden is a forest ledge Which older forests bound; The banks slope down to the blue lake-edge, Then plunge to depths profound.
Here once the Deluge ploughed, Laid the terraces, one by one; Ebbing later whence it flowed, They bleach and dry in the sun.
The sowers made haste to depart,— The wind and the birds which sowed it; Not for fame, nor by rules of art, Planted these, and tempests flowed it.
​Waters that wash my garden-side Play not in Nature's lawful web, They heed not moon or solar tide,— Five years elapse from flood to ebb.
Hither hasted, in old time, Jove, And every god,—none did refuse; And be sure at last came Love, And after Love, the Muse.
Keen ears can catch a syllable, As if one spake to another, In the hemlocks tall, untamable, And what the whispering grasses smother.
Æolian harps in the pine Ring with the song of the Fates; Infant Bacchus in the vine,— Far distant yet his chorus waits.
Canst thou copy in verse one chime Of the wood-bell's peal and cry, Write in a book the morning's prime, Or match with words that tender sky?
Wonderful verse of the gods, Of one import, of varied tone; They chant the bliss of their abodes To man imprisoned in his own.
​Ever the words of the gods resound; But the porches of man's ear Seldom in this low life's round Are unsealed, that he may hear.
Wandering voices in the air And murmurs in the wold Speak what I cannot declare, Yet cannot all withhold.
When the shadow fell on the lake, The whirlwind in ripples wrote Air-bells of fortune that shine and break, And omens above thought.
But the meanings cleave to the lake, Cannot be carried in book or urn; Go thy ways now, come later back, On waves and hedges still they burn.
These the fates of men forecast, Of better men than live to-day; If who can read them comes at last He will spell in the sculpture, 'Stay.'
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Nature 1

NATURE
I
Winters know Easily to shed the snow, And the untaught Spring is wise In cowslips and anemonies. Nature, hating art and pains, Baulks and baffles plotting brains; Casualty and Surprise Are the apples of her eyes; But she dearly loves the poor, And, by marvel of her own, Strikes the loud pretender down. For Nature listens in the rose And hearkens in the berry's bell To help her friends, to plague her foes, And like wise God she judges well. Yet doth much her love excel To the souls that never fell, To swains that live in happiness And do well because they please, Who walk in ways that are unfamed, And feats achieve before they 're named.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Nemesis

NEMESIS
Already blushes on thy cheek The bosom thought which thou must speak; The bird, how far it haply roam By cloud or isle, is flying home; The maiden fears, and fearing runs Into the charmed snare she shuns; And every man, in love or pride, Of his fate is never wide.
Will a woman's fan the ocean smooth? Or prayers the stony Parcæ soothe, Or coax the thunder from its mark? Or tapers light the chaos dark? In spite of Virtue and the Muse, Nemesis will have her dues, And all our struggles and our toils Tighter wind the giant coils.