OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Selections from the Writings of Lord Dunsany/The Castle of Time

THE CASTLE OF TIME
Presently there was a stir in one of the houses, and a bat flew out of the door into the daylight, and three mice came running out of the doorway down the step, an old stone cracked in two and held together by moss; and there followed an old man bending on a stick with a white beard coming to the ground, wearing clothes that were glossed with use, and presently there came others out of the other houses, all of them as old, and all hobbling on sticks. These were the oldest people that the King had ever beheld, and he asked them the name of the village and who they were; and one of them answered: 'This is the City of the Aged in the Territory of Time.' And the King said; 'Is Time then here?' And one of the old men pointed to a great castle standing on a steep hill and said: 'Therein dwells Time, and we are his people;' and they all looked curiously at King Karnith Zo, and the eldest of the villagers spoke again and said: 'Whence do you come, you that are so young?' and Karnith Zo told him how he had come to conquer Time, to save the world and the gods, and asked them whence they came. And the villagers said: 'We are older than always, and know not whence ​we came, but we are the people of Time, and here from the Edge of Everything he sends out his hours to assail the world, and you may never conquer Time.' But the King went back to his armies, and pointed toward the castle on the hill and told them that at last they had found the Enemy of the Earth; and they that were older than always went back slowly into their houses with the creaking of olden doors. And they went across the fields and passed the village. From one of his towers Time eyed them all the while, and in battle order they closed in on the steep hill as Time sat still in his great tower and watched.
But as the feet of the foremost touched the edge of the hill Time hurled five years against them, and the years passed over their heads and the army still came on, an army of older men. But the slope seemed steeper to the King and to every man in his army, and they breathed more heavily. And Time summoned up more years, and one by one he hurled them at Karnith Zo and at all his men. And the knees of the army stiffened, and their beards grew and turned grey, and the hours and days and the months went singing over their heads, and their hair turned whiter and whiter, and the conquering hours bore down, and the years rushed on and swept the youth of that army clear away till they came ​face to face under the walls of the castle of Time with a mass of howling years, and found the top of the slope too steep for aged men. Slowly and painfully, harassed with agues and chills, the King rallied his aged army that tottered down the slope. Slowly the King led back his warriors over whose heads had shrieked the triumphant years. Year in, year out, they straggled southwards, always towards Zoon; they came, with rust upon their spears and long beards flowing, again into Astarma, and none knew them there.
# Selections from the Writings of Lord Dunsany

SELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF LORD DUNSANY
THE CUALA PRESS CHURCHTOWN DUNDRUM MCMXII
| CONTENTS | Page |
| The Gods of the Mountain | 1 |
| The First Act of King Argimenes and the Unknown Warrior | 31 |
| The Fall of Babbulkund | 45 |
| The Sphinx at Gizeh | 67 |
| Idle Days on the Yann | 69 |
| A Miracle | 96 |
| The Castle of Time | 97 |
The Cuala Press wishes to thank Mr. William Heinemann for permission to reprint part of 'Time and the Gods,' and Messrs. George Allen and Sons for permission to reprint 'The Fall of Babbulkund,' 'Idle Days on the Yann' and part of 'An Idle City.'
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 1957, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 66 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
# Songs and Sonnets (Coleman)/At Sunset

AT SUNSET.
From green to gold, from gold to amethyst, Transmuted by the sun's last lingering ray, The tranquil hills in dreaming silence lay, Wrought to a beauty eye could not resist; Till, folded in with veils of purple mist That slowly wrapt them from reluctant day, They mingled with the dusk and flowed away, Renewing with the stars their nightly tryst.
And as the soft enchantments round us spread, And twilight with its pensive shadows fell— Loosed from the prison-wards of care and dread, Lured from our selfish griefs by beauty's spell— Along dim thoroughfares our thoughts were led To haunts of peace where love and silence dwell.
# Songs and Sonnets (Coleman)/As One Embarking

AS ONE EMBARKING.
As one embarking turns deep-visioned eyes Back to his fast-receding native shore, Whose crystal tides shall ebb and flow no more For him, or sound their silver harmonies; And there beholds how all the landscape lies Transfigured with a charm it never wore In those indifferent early days before He faced the loneliness of foreign skies;
So earth becomes, to eyes bedimmed with tears Of that impending change whose silent knell Sounds at the heart of slowly-waning years (Even to those who always loved it well), Transfigured with a charm that more endears, And touched with beauty indescribable.
# Songs and Sonnets (Coleman)/Candle-flame

CANDLE-FLAME.
Hast singed thy pretty wings, poor moth? Fret not; some moths there be That wander all the weary night, Longing in vain to see The light.
Hast felt the scorching flame, poor heart? Grieve not; some hearts exist That know not, grow not to be strong, And weep not, having missed The song.
# Songs and Sonnets (Coleman)/Caught up on Wings

CAUGHT UP ON WINGS.
Caught up on wings am I! The rapture of the sky— Is mine as in my flight Through boundless spaces bright— Delirium of light— I soar on high—on high— Till Heaven itself is nigh— Caught up on wings am I!
In bonds but yesterday A prisoner I lay, The song unguessed, unheard, The hope—the dream unstirred, As mounts the singing bird To realms of ecstasy, I mount upon my way And speed aloft to-day.
My own has come to me And set my spirit free, No more enchained I dwell, The speeding arrow fell— Wrought was the miracle, Far realms beyond I see, The best is yet to be— My own has come to me!
# Songs and Sonnets (Coleman)/Certitude

CERTITUDE.
From regions inaccessible to sight We catch at times a momentary gleam As of celestial mysteries that stream In distant realms of unimagined light; Then, rapt as from a restless, fevered night, There breaks upon our little finite dream The vision of immortal dawn supreme— The nameless threshold of the Infinite.
Who knows such moments needs no other sign; Faith proves itself, and in the soul there wakes Conviction of a purpose, vast, benign; As Spring thrills through the apathetic clod, Upon the barren wastes of doubt there breaks A sudden boundless consciousness of God!
# Songs and Sonnets (Coleman)/But They Remember Not

BUT THEY REMEMBER NOT.
His mother wrought as only mothers can, And gave the impress to the coming man, Put all her earlier aims and hopes aside, Focussed in him her whole desire and pride, Nor spared herself, but toiling early, late, Hewed through their poverty a pathway straight For his young footsteps—gave him all she had, And sent him forth an honest, whole-souled lad.
His wife, the guardian of his later ways, The star and inspiration of his days, Relieved him of those trivial, tyrant cares That lurk about our feet like hidden snares, And set him free for higher thought and deed; Making her heart a home to meet his need As only women can, she gave surcease Of grinding stress and fenced him in with peace.
And he?—Before him burned the steadfast light Their hands had held to guide his way aright; By it he reached the summit of his aim, The goal of his endeavor, and became The idol of his day. But they who sound His fame remember not the lives uncrowned On which he stands—the narrow, obscure ways Two women trod to wreathe his name with praise.
# Songs and Sonnets (Coleman)/Bondage

BONDAGE.
Throughout the long, monotonous hours of day, With lifeless tread and apathetic eyes, The slave, inured to toil and sacrifice, Bends all his powers to the master's sway; But with releasing darkness he can lay Aside the mask and be himself, and rise To face the deep serenity of skies That veil the waiting gods, and weep and pray.
So with my soul, that through the daylight hours Yields to the world, its master, weary, dumb, In bondage to the trivial, all its powers, And yet behind the surface fret and strife In anguish sees, when night and silence come, The unattained divinity of life.
# Songs and Sonnets (Coleman)/As Parsifal of Old

AS PARSIFAL OF OLD.
As Parsifal of old stood in the hall, And saw with silent awe and wondering The Holy Grail uncovered by the king— Hearing within himself the still voice call; So I, but newly wakened, rapt by all The sweet enchantments that around me spring— Beholding daily in each living thing Love's miracle—am held in Beauty's thrall.
As Parsifal of old a knight became And gave his powers to a holy quest— All baser part consumed as by a flame— So I am fain, at Love's divine behest, To yield both heart and spirit to the claim That life makes visible and manifest.
# Songs and Sonnets (Coleman)/Beyond the Violet Rays

BEYOND THE VIOLET RAYS.
Beyond the violet rays we do not know What colors lie, what fields of light abound, Or what undreamed effulgence may surround Our dreaming consciousness above, below; Nor is it far that finite sense can go Along the subtle passages of sound, The finer tonal waves are too profound For mortal ears to catch their ebb and flow.
And there are moments when upon us steal Monitions of far wider realms that lie Beyond our spirit borders, and we feel That fine, ethereal joys we cannot name. In some vast orbit circling, sweeping by, Touch us in passing as with wings of flame.
# Songs and Sonnets (Coleman)/At Parting

AT PARTING.
Keep thou amidst the fulness of thy days Some little space apart for thoughts of me, Where all the best I have and am may be Familiar and essential to thy ways; Make thou the hours as shining argosies Emblazoned with the love I bear to thee, And freighted with my spirit's hidden plea— At once thy inspiration and thy praise.
For he who keeps within his heart a shrine Where tender dreams may gather, makes defenc Against encroaching tides that undermine The soul's integrity and confidence, And I would have, in every act of thine, Love's presence conscious to thy deeper sense.
# Safely Through Another Week (unsourced)

Saturday evening by John Newton
    Safely through another week God has brought us on our way;
    Let us now a blessing seek, on th’approaching Sabbath day;
    Day of all the week the best, emblem of eternal rest,
    Day of all the week the best, emblem of eternal rest.
    Mercies multiplied each hour through the week our praise demand;
    Guarded by almighty power, fed and guided by His hand;
    Though ungrateful we have been, only made returns of sin,
    Though ungrateful we have been, only made returns of sin.
    While we pray for pardoning grace, through the dear Redeemer’s Name,
    Show Thy reconciled face, shine away our sin and shame;
    From our worldly cares set free, may we rest this night with Thee,
    From our worldly cares set free, may we rest this night with Thee.
    Here we come Thy Name to praise, let us feel Thy presence near,
    May Thy glory meet our eyes, while we in Thy house appear:
    Here afford us, Lord, a taste of our everlasting feast,
    Here afford us, Lord, a taste of our everlasting feast.
    When the morn shall bid us rise, may we feel Thy presence near:
    May Thy glory meet our eyes, when we in Thy house appear:
    There afford us, Lord, a taste of our everlasting feast,
    There afford us, Lord, a taste of our everlasting feast.
    May Thy Gospel’s joyful sound conquer sinners, comfort saints;
    May the fruits of grace abound, bring relief for all complaints;
    Thus may all our Sabbaths prove till we join the church above,
    Thus may all our Sabbaths prove till we join the church above!
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
# Safety (Brooke)

* "1914: II. Safety" in 1914 and other poems (1915)
* "1914: II. Safety" in The Collected Poems of Rupert Brooke (1915)
* "Safety" in A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919 (1917)
# Safely Through Another Week

This hymn is usually sung to the tune Sabbath by Lowell Mason.
* "Safely Through Another Week" in The Army and Navy Hymnal, 1920
* "Safely Through Another Week" (unsourced)
# Scenes and Hymns of Life, with Other Religious Poems/The Raising of the Widow's Son

X.
THE RAISING OF THE WIDOW'S SON.
"And he that was dead sat up and began to speak."
He that was dead rose up and spoke—He spoke!  Was it of that majestic world unknown? Those words, which first the bier's dread silence broke,  Came they with revelation in each tone? Were the far cities of the nations gone,  The solemn halls of consciousness or sleep, For man uncurtain'd by that spirit lone,  Back from their portal summon'd o'er the deep? Be hush'd, my soul! the veil of darkness lay Still drawn:—thy Lord call'd back the voice departed, To spread his truth, to comfort his weak-hearted, Not to reveal the mysteries of its way. Oh! take that lesson home in silent faith, Put on submissive strength to meet, not question, death!
# Scenes and Hymns of Life, with Other Religious Poems/The Memory of the Dead

THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD.
Forget them not! though now their name  Be but a mournful sound, Though by the hearth its utterance claim  A stillness round:
Though for their sake this earth no more  As it hath been, may be, And shadows, never marked before,  Brood o'er each tree:
And though their image dim the sky,  Yet, yet, forget them not! Nor, where their love and life went by,  Forsake the spot!
They have a breathing influence there,  A charm not elsewhere found; Sad—yet it sanctifies the air,  The stream, the ground.   Then, though the wind an alter'd tone  Through the young foliage bear, Though every flower, of something gone,  A tinge may wear:
Oh, fly it not!—no fruitless grief  Thus in their presence felt, A record links to every leaf,  There, where they dwelt.
Still trace the path which knew their tread,  Still tend their garden bower, Still commune with the holy dead,  In each lone hour.
The holy dead!—oh! blest we are,  That we may call them so, And to their image look afar,  Through all our woe!
Blest, that the things they lov'd on earth  As relics we may hold, That wake sweet thoughts of parted worth  By springs untold!
Blest, that a deep and chastening power  Thus o'er our souls is given, If but to bird, or song, or flower,  Yet, all for Heaven.
# Scenes and Hymns of Life, with Other Religious Poems/The Prayer in the Wilderness

THE PRAYER IN THE WILDERNESS.
SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF CORREGIO'S.
In the deep wilderness unseen she prayed, The daughter of Jerusalem; alone, With all the still small whispers of the night, And with the searching glances of the stars, And with her God, alone:—she lifted up Her sweet, sad voice, and, trembling o'er her head, The dark leaves thrilled with prayer—the tearful prayer Of woman's quenchless, yet repentant love.
Father of Spirits, hear! Look on the inmost heart to thee revealed, Look on the fountain of the burning tear, Before thy sight in solitude unsealed!
 Hear, Father! hear, and aid! If I have lov'd too well, if I have shed, In my vain fondness, o'er a mortal head, Gifts, on thy shrine, my God! more fitly laid.
 If I have sought to live But in one light, and made a human eye The lonely star of mine idolatry, Thou that art Love! oh, pity and forgive!
 Chastened and schooled at last, No more, no more my struggling spirit burns, But fixed on thee, from that wild worship turns— What have I said?—the deep dream is not past!
Yet hear!—if still I love, Oh? still too fondly—if, for ever seen, An earthly image comes, my heart between, And thy calm glory, Father! thron'd above!
 If still a voice is near, (E'en while I strive these wanderings to control,) An earthly voice, disquieting my soul With its deep music, too intensely dear,
 O Father! draw to thee My lost affections back!—the dreaming eyes Clear from their mist—sustain the heart that dies, Give the worn soul once more its pinions free!
 I must love on, O God! This bosom must love on!—but let thy breath Touch and make pure the flame that knows not death, Bearing it up to Heaven!—Love's own abode!
Ages and ages past, the wilderness, With its dark cedars, and the thrilling night, With her clear stars, and the mysterious winds, That waft all sound, were conscious of those prayers. How many such hath woman's bursting heart Since then, in silence and in darkness breath'd, Like the dim night-flower's odour, up to God?
# Scenes and Hymns of Life, with Other Religious Poems/The Reply of the Shunamite Woman

VI.
THE REPLY OF THE SHUNAMITE WOMAN.
"And she answered, I dwell among mine own people." 2 Kings, iv. 13.
"I dwell among mine own"—Oh! happy thou!  Not for the sunny clusters of the vine, Nor for the olives on the mountain's brow;  Nor the flocks wandering by the flowery line  Of streams, that make the green land where they shine Laugh to the light of waters—not for these, Nor the soft shadow of ancestral trees,  Whose kindly whisper floats o'er thee and thine— Oh! not for these I call thee richly blest, But for the meekness of thy woman's breast,  Where that sweet depth of still contentment lies;  And for thy holy household love, which clings  Unto all ancient and familiar things, Weaving from each some link for home's dear charities.
# Scenes and Hymns of Life, with Other Religious Poems/The Palmer

THE PALMER.
The faded palm-branch in his hand, Shew'd pilgrim from the Holy Land. Scott.
Art thou come from the far-off land at last?  Thou that hast wander'd long! Thou art come to a home whence the smile hath pass'd,  With the merry voice of song.
For the sunny glance and the bounding heart  Thou wilt seek—but all are gone; They are parted e'en as waters part,  To meet in the deep alone!
And thou—from thy lip is fled the glow,  From thine eye the light of morn; And the shades of thought o'erhang thy brow,  And thy cheek with life is worn.
Say what hast thou brought from the distant shore  For thy wasted youth to pay? Hast thou treasure to win thee joys once more?  Hast thou vassals to smooth thy way?
"I have brought but the palm branch in my hand.  Yet I call not my bright youth lost! I have won but high thought in the Holy Land,  Yet I count not too dear the cost!
"I look on the leaves of the deathless tree—  These records of my track; And better than youth in its flush of glee,  Are the memories they give me back!
"They speak of toil, and of high emprise,  As in words of solemn cheer, They speak of lonely victories  O'er pain, and doubt, and fear.
"They speak of scenes which have now become  Bright pictures in my breast; Where my spirit finds a glorious home,  And the love of my heart can rest.
"The colours pass not from these away,  Like tints of shower or sun; Oh! beyond all treasures that know decay,  Is the wealth my soul hath won!
"A rich light thence o'er my life's decline,  An inborn light is cast; For the sake of the palm from the holy shrine,  I bewail not my bright days past!"
# Scenes and Hymns of Life, with Other Religious Poems/The Olive Tree

XI.
THE OLIVE TREE.
The Palm—the Vine—the Cedar—each hath power To bid fair Oriental shapes glance by, And each quick glistening of the Laurel bower Wafts Grecian images o'er fancy's eye. But thou, pale Olive!—in thy branches lie Far deeper spells than prophet-grove of old Might e'er enshrine:—I could not hear thee sigh To the wind's faintest whisper, nor behold One shiver of thy leaves' dim silvery green, Without high thoughts and solemn, of that scene When, in the garden, the Redeemer prayed— When pale stars looked upon his fainting head, And angels, minist'ring in silent dread, Trembled, perchance, within thy trembling shade.
# Scenes and Hymns of Life, with Other Religious Poems/The Memorial of Mary

XII.
THE MEMORIAL OF MARY.
"Verily I say unto you, wheresoever this gospel shall be preached in the whole world, there shall also this, that this woman hath done, be told for a memorial of her."—Matthew, xxvi. 13.—See also John, xii. 3.
Thou hast thy record in the monarch's hall;  And on the waters of the far mid sea; And where the mighty mountain-shadows fall,  The alpine hamlet keeps a thought of thee:  Where'er, beneath some Oriental tree, The Christian traveller rests—where'er the child  Looks upward from the English mother's knee, With earnest eyes in wondering reverence mild, There art thou known—where'er the Book of Light Bears hope and healing, there, beyond all blight,  Is borne thy memory, and all praise above: Oh! say what deed so lifted thy sweet name, Mary! to that pure silent place of fame?  One lowly offering of exceeding love.
# Scenes and Hymns of Life, with Other Religious Poems/The Sacred Harp

SONNETS,
DEVOTIONAL AND MEMORIAL.
I.
THE SACRED HARP.
How shall the Harp of poesy regain  That old victorious tone of prophet-years,  A spell divine o'er guilt's perturbing fears, And all the hovering shadows of the brain? Dark evil wings took flight before the strain,  And showers of holy quiet, with its fall,  Sank on the soul:—Oh! who may now recall The mighty music's consecrated reign?— Spirit of God! whose glory once o'erhung  A throne, the Ark's dread cherubim between,  So let thy presence brood, though now unseen, O'et those two powers by whom the harp is strung— Feeling and Thought!—till the rekindled chords Give the long buried tone back to immortal words!
# Scenes and Hymns of Life, with Other Religious Poems/The Penitent Anointing Christ's Feet

IX.
THE PENITENT ANOINTING CHRIST'S FEET.
There was a mournfulness in angel eyes,  That saw thee, woman! bright in this world's train, Moving to pleasure's airy melodies,  Thyself the idol of the enchanted strain.  But from thy beauty's garland, brief and vain, When one by one the rose-leaves had been torn,  When thy heart's core had quivered to the pain Through every life-nerve sent by arrowy scorn; When thou didst kneel to pour sweet odours forth  On the Redeemer's feet, with many a sigh, And showering tear-drop, of yet richer worth  Than all those costly balms of Araby; Then was there joy, a song of joy in Heaven, For thee, the child won back, the penitent forgiven!
# Senate Judiciary Committee Interview of Glenn Simpson/end matter

​CERTIFICATE OF SHORTHAND REPORTER - NOTARY PUBLIC
I, TINA M. ALFARO, Certified Shorthand Reporter No. 084-004220, Certified Realtime Reporter, and Notary Public in and for the State of Illinois, do hereby certify:
That GLENN SIMPSON, whose interview is hereinbefore set forth, was duly sworn by me and that said deposition is a true record of the testimony given by such witness.
I further certify that I am not counsel for nor in any way related to any of the parties to this suit, nor am I in any way interested in the outcome thereof.
In witness, whereof, I have hereunto set my hand this ____ day of __________,2017.
_____________________________
Tina M. Alfaro, CSR, CRR
# She died at play

She died at play, Gambolled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turk Upon a Couch of flowers.
Her ghost strolled softly o'er the hill Yesterday, and Today, Her vestments as the silver fleece — Her countenance as spray.
# She laid her docile Crescent down

She laid her docile Crescent down And this confiding Stone Still states to Dates that have forgot The News that she is gone —
So constant to its stolid trust, The Shaft that never knew — It shames the Constancy that fled Before its emblem flew —
# She slept beneath a tree—

She slept beneath a tree — Remembered but by me. I touched her Cradle mute — She recognized the foot — Put on her carmine suit And see!