OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems of Peace/To them that seek the Highest Good

TO THEM THAT SEEK THE HIGHEST GOOD
To them that seek the highest Good All things subserve the wisest ends; Naught comes as ill, and wisdom lends Wings to all shapes of evil brood.
The dark’ning sorrow veils a Star That waits to shine with gladsome light; Hell waits on heaven; and after night Comes golden glory from afar.
Defeats are steps by which we climb With purer aim to nobler ends; Loss leads to gain, and joy attends True footsteps up the hills of time.
Pain lead to paths of holy bliss, To thoughts and words and deeds divine; And clouds that gloom and rays that shine, Along life’s upward highway kiss.
Misfortune does but cloud the way Whose end and summit in the sky Of bright success, sunkiss’d and high, Awaits our seeking and our stay.
The heavy pall of doubts and fears That clouds the Valley of our hopes, The shades with which the spirit copes, The bitter harvesting of tears,
The heartaches, miseries, and griefs, The bruisings born of broken ties, All these are steps by which we rise To living ways of sound beliefs.
Love, pitying, watchful, runs to meet The Pilgrim from the Land of Fate; All glory and all good await The coming of obedient feet.
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# Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke (1918)

Poems Rainer Maria Rilke Translated by Jessie Lemont With an Introduction by H. T.
New York Tobias A. Wright 1918
Copyright 1918, by Jessie Lemont All rights reserved Published December, 1918
Title Page and Decorations By Dugald Stewart Walker
TO THE MEMORY OF AUGUSTE RODIN THROUGH WHOM I CAME TO KNOW RAINER MARIA RILKE
Acknowledgment
To the Editors of Poetry—A magazine of Verse, and Poet Lore, the translator is indebted for permission to reprint certain poems in this book—also to the compilers of the following anthologies—Amphora II edited by Thomas Bird Mosher—The Catholic Anthology selected by Thomas Walsh and the Anthology of World Poetry selected by Carl van Doren.
​CONTENTS
Introduction: The Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke
First Poems: Evening Mary Virgin
The Book of Pictures: Presaging Autumn Silent Hour The Angels Solitude Kings in Legends The Knight The Boy Initiation The Neighbour Song of the Statue Maidens I Maidens II The Bride Autumnal Day ​Moonlight Night In April Memories of a Childhood Death The Ashantee Remembrance Music Maiden Melancholy Maidens at Confirmation The Woman who Loves Pont du Carrousel Madness Lament Symbols
New Poems: Early Apollo The Tomb of a Young Girl The Poet The Panther Growing Blind The Spanish Dancer ​Offering Love Song Archaic Torso of Apollo
The Book of Hours: The Book of a Monk's Life I Live my Life in Circles Many have Painted Her In Cassocks Clad Thou Anxious One I Love My Lifes Dark Hours
The Book of Pilgrimage By Day Thou Art The Legend and The Dream All Those Who Seek Thee In a House Was One Extinguish My Eyes In the Deep Nights
The Book of Poverty and Death Her Mouth Alone Thou Wanderest A Watcher of Thy Spaces
FIVE HUNDRED COPIES OF THIS BOOK PRINTED ON ENFIELD DECKLE EDGE PAPER IN THE MONTH OF DECEMBER MDCCCCXVIII
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke (1918)/Autumn

​AUTUMN
The leaves fall, fall as from far, Like distant gardens withered in the heavens; They fall with slow and lingering descent.
And in the nights the heavy Earth, too, falls From out the stars into the Solitude.
Thus all doth fall. This hand of mine must fall And lo! the other one:—it is the law. But there is One who holds this falling Infinitely softly in His hands.
# Poems of Peace/When I am Pure

WHEN I AM PURE
When I am pure I shall have solved the mystery of life, I shall be sure, When I am free from hatred, lust, and strife, I am in Truth, and Truth abides in me. I shall be safe and sane and wholly free When I am pure.
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# Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke (1918)/Archaic Torso of Apollo

​ARCHAIC TORSO OF APOLLO
We cannot fathom his mysterious head, Through the veiled eyes no flickering ray is sent: But from his torso gleaming light is shed As from a candelabrum; inward bent His glance there glows and lingers. Otherwise The round breast would not blind you with its grace, Nor could the soft-curved circle of the thighs Steal to the arc whence issues a new race. Nor could this stark and stunted stone display Vibrance beneath the shoulders heavy bar, Nor shine like fur upon a beast of prey, Nor break forth from its lines like a great star— There is no spot that does not bind you fast And transport you back, back to a far past.
# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 66

Scans
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# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Stwonèn Pworch

THE STWONÈN PWORCH
A new house! Ees, indeed! a small Straïght, upstart thing, that, after all, Do teäke in only half the groun’ The wold woone did avore ’twer down; Wi’ little windows straïght an’ flat, Not big enough to zun a-cat, An’ dealèn door a-meäde so thin, A puff o’ wind would blow en in, Where woone do vind a thing to knock So small’s the hammer ov a clock, That wull but meäke a little click About so loud’s a clock do tick! Gi’e me the wold house, wi’ the wide An’ lofty-lo’ted rooms inside; An’ wi’ the stwonfèn pworch avore The naïl-bestudded woaken door, That had a knocker very little Less to handle than a bittle, That het a blow that vied so loud Drough house as thunder drough a cloud, An’ meäde the dog behind the door Growl out so deep’s a bull do roar.
In all the house, o’ young an’ wold, There werden woone but could a-twold When he’d noo wish to seek abrode Mwore jaÿ than thik wold pworch bestow’d! For there, when yollow evenèn shed His light ageän the elem’s head, An’ gnots did whiver in the zun, An’ uncle’s work wer all a-done, His whiffs o’ meltèn smoke did roll Above his bendèn pipe’s white bowl, ​While he did chat, or, zittèn dumb, Injaÿ his thoughts as they did come.
An’ Jimmy, wi’ his crowd below His chin, did dreve his nimble bow In tuèns vor to meäke us spring A-reelèn, or in zongs to zing, An’ there, between the dark an’ light, Zot Poll by Willy’s zide at night A-whisp’rèn, while her eyes did zwim In jaÿ avore the twilight dim; An’ when (to know if she wer near) Aunt call’d, did cry, “Ees, mother; here.”
No, no; I woulden gi’e thee thanks Vor fine white walls an’ vloors o’ planks, Nor doors a-païnted up so fine. If I’d a wold grey house o’ mine, Gi’e me vor all it should be small, A stwonèn pworch instead ō’t all.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Veäiry Veet that I do meet

THE VEAIRY VEET THAT I DO MEET.
When dewy fall’s red leaves do vlee Along the grass below the tree, Or lie in yollow beds a-shook Upon the shallow-water’d brook, Or drove ’ithin a sheädy nook;  Then softly, in the evenèn, down  The knap do steal along the groun’  The veäiry veet that I do meet  Below the row o’ beech trees.
​’Tis jist avore the candle-light Do redden windows up at night, An’ peäler stars do light the vogs A-risèn vrom the brooks an’ bogs, An’ when in barkens yoppèn dogs  Do bark at vo’k a-comèn near,  Or growl a-lis’enèn to hear  The veäiry veet that I do meet  Below the row o’ beech trees.
Dree times a-year do bless the road O’ womanhood a-gwaïn abrode: When vu’st her litty veet do tread The eärly Maÿ’s white deäisy bed: When leaves be all a-scattered dead;  An’ when the winter’s vrozen grass  Do glissen in the zun lik’ glass  Vor veäiry veet that I do meet  Below the row o’ beech trees.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Two Churches

THE TWO CHURCHES.
A happy day, a happy year, A zummer Zunday, dazzlèn clear, I went athirt vrom Lea to Noke. To goo to church wi’ Fanny’s vo’k: ​The sky o’ blue did only show A cloud or two, so white as snow, An’ aïr did swaÿ, wi’ softest strokes, The eltrot roun’ the dark-bough’d woaks. O day o’ rest when bells do toll! O day a-blest to ev’ry soul! How sweet the zwells o’ Zunday bells.
An’ on the cowslip-knap at Creech, Below the grove o’ steätely beech, I heärd two tow’rs a-cheemèn clear, Vrom woone I went, to woone drew near, As they did call, by flow’ry ground, The bright-shod veet vrom housen round, A-drownèn wi’ their holy call, The goocoo an’ the water-vall. Die off, O bells o’ my dear pleäce, Ring out, O bells avore my feäce, Vull sweet your zwells, O ding-dong bells.
Ah! then vor things that time did bring My kinsvo’k, Lea had bells to ring; An’ then, ageän, vor what bevell My wife’s, why Noke church had a bell; But soon wi’ hopevul lives a-bound In woone, we had woone tower’s sound, Vor our high jaÿs all vive bells rung, Our losses had woone iron tongue. Oh! ring all round, an’ never mwoän So deep an’ slow woone bell alwone, Vor sweet your swells o’ vive clear bells.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Spring

SPRING.
——o——
THE SPRING.
When wintry weather’s all a-done, An’ brooks do sparkle in the zun, An’ nâisy-buildèn rooks do vlee Wi’ sticks toward their elem tree; When birds do zing, an’ we can zee  Upon the boughs the buds o’ spring,—  Then I’m as happy as a king,  A-vield wi’ health an’ zunsheen.
Vor then the cowslip’s hangèn flow’r A-wetted in the zunny showr, Do grow wi’ vi’lets, sweet o’ smell, Bezide the wood-screen’d grægle’s bell; Where drushes’ aggs, wi’ sky-blue shell.  Do lie in mossy nest among  The thorns, while they do zing their zong  At evenèn in the zunsheen.
An’ God do meäke his win’ to blow An’ raïn to vail vor high an’ low, An’ bid his mornèn zun to rise Vor all alike, an’ groun’ an’ skies Ha’ colors vor the poor man’s eyes:  An’ in our trials He is near,  To hear our mwoan an’ zee our tear.  An’ turn our clouds to zunsheen.
​An’ many times when I do vind Things all goo wrong, an’ vo’k unkind, To zee the happy veedèn herds, An’ hear the zingèn o’ the birds, Do soothe my sorrow mwore than words;  Vor I do zee that ’tis our sin  Do meäke woone’s soul so dark ’ithin.  When God would gi’e woone zunsheen.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Stage Coach

THE STAGE COACH.
Ah! when the wold vo’k went abroad  They thought it vast enough, If vow’r good ho’ses beät the road  Avore the coach’s ruf;  An’ there they zot,  A-cwold or hot, ​An’ roll’d along the ground,  While the whip did smack  On the ho’ses’ back, An’ the wheels went swiftly round, Good so’s;  The wheels went swiftly round.
Noo iron raïls did streak the land  To keep the wheels in track. The coachman turn’d his vow’r-in-hand,  Out right, or left, an’ back;  An’ he’d stop avore  A man’s own door, To teäke en up or down:  While the reins veil slack  On the ho’ses’ back, Till the wheels did rottle round ageän;  Till the wheels did rottle round.
An’ there, when wintry win’ did blow,  Athirt the plaïn an’ hill, An’ the zun wer peäle above the snow,  An’ ice did stop the mill.  They did laugh an’ joke  Wi’ cwoat or cloke, So warmly roun’ em bound,  While the whip did crack  On the ho’ses’ back, An’ the wheels did trundle round, d’ye know;  The wheels did trundle round.
An’ when the rumblèn coach did pass  Where hufflèn winds did roar, They’d stop to teäke a warmèn glass  By the sign above the door;  An’ did laugh an’ joke  An’ ax the vo’k ​The miles they wer vrom town,  Till the whip did crack  On the ho’ses back, An’ the wheels did truckle roun’, good vo’k;  The wheels did truckle roun’.
An’ gaïly rod wold age or youth,  When zummer light did vall On woods in leaf, or trees in blooth,  Or girt vo’ks parkzide wall.  An’ they thought they past  The pleäces vast, Along the dousty groun’,  When the whip did smack  On the ho’ses’ back, An’ the wheels spun swiftly roun’. Them days  The wheels spun swiftly roun’.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Turnstile

THE TURNSTILE.
Ah! sad wer we as we did peäce The wold church road, wi’ downcast feäce, The while the bells, that mwoan’d so deep Above our child a-left asleep, Wer now a-zingèn all alive Wi’ tother bells to meäke the vive. But up at woone pleäce we come by, ’Twer hard to keep woone’s two eyes dry: On Steän-cliff road, ’ithin the drong, Up where, as vo’k do pass along, The turnèn stile, a-païnted white, Do sheen by day an’ show by night. Vor always there, as we did goo To church, thik stile did let us drough, Wi’ spreadèn eärms that wheel’d to guide Us each in turn to tother zide. An’ vu’st ov all the traïn he took My wife, wi’ winsome gaït an’ look; An’ then zent on my little maïd, A-skippèn onward, overjaÿ’d To reach ageän the pleäce o’ pride, Her comely mother’s left han’ zide. An’ then, a-wheelèn roun’, he took On me, ’ithin his third white nook. An’ in the fourth, a-sheäkèn wild, He zent us on our giddy child. ​But eesterday he guided slow My downcast Jenny, vull o’ woe, An’ then my little maïd in black, A-walkèn softly on her track; An’ after he’d a-turn’d ageän, To let me goo along the leäne, He had noo little bwoy to vill His last white eärms, an’ they stood still.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Vaïces that be Gone

THE VAÏCES THAT BE GONE.
When evenèn sheädes o’ trees do hide A body by the hedge’s zide, An’ twitt’rèn birds, wi’ plaÿsome flight, Do vlee to roost at comèn night, Then I do saunter out o’ zight  In orcha’d, where the pleäce woonce rung  Wi’ laughs a-laugh’d an’ zongs a-zung  By vaïces that be gone.
There’s still the tree that bore our swing, An’ others where the birds did zing; But long-leav’d docks do overgrow The groun’ we trampled beäre below, Wi’ merry skippèns to an’ fro  Bezide the banks, where Jim did zit  A-plaÿèn o’ the clarinit  To vaïces that be gone.
​How mother, when we us’d to stun Her head wi’ all our naïsy fun, Did wish us all a-gone vrom hwome: An’ now that zome be dead, an’ zome A-gone, an’ all the pleäce is dum’.  How she do wish, wi’ useless tears,  To have ageän about her ears  The vaïces that be gone.
Vor all the maïdens an’ the bwoys But I, be marri’d off all woys, Or dead an’ gone; but I do bide At hwome, alwone, at mother’s zide, An’ often, at the evenèn-tide,  I still do saunter out, wi’ tears,  Down drough the orcha’d, where my ears  Do miss the vaïces gone.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Stwonèn Bwoy

THE STWONEN BWOY UPON THE PILLAR.
Wi’ smokeless tuns an’ empty halls, An’ moss a-clingèn to the walls, In ev’ry wind the lofty tow’rs Do teäke the zun, an’ bear the show’rs; An’ there, ’ithin a geät a-hung, But vasten’d up, an’ never swung. ​Upon the pillar, all alwone, Do stan’ the little bwoy o’ stwone; ’S a poppy bud mid linger on, Vorseäken, when the wheat’s a-gone. An’ there, then, wi’ his bow let slack, An’ little quiver at his back, Drough het an’ wet, the little chile Vrom day to day do stan’ an’ smile. When vu’st the light, a-risèn weak, At break o’ day, do smite his cheäk, Or while, at noon, the leafy bough Do cast a sheäde a-thirt his brow, Or when at night the warm-breath’d cows Do sleep by moon-belighted boughs; An’ there the while the rooks do bring Their scroff to build their nest in Spring, Or zwallows in the zummer day Do cling their little huts o’ clay, ’Ithin the raïnless sheädes, below The steadvast arches’ mossy bow. Or when, in Fall, the woak do shed The leaves, a-wither’d, vrom his head, An’ western win’s, a-blowèn cool, Do dreve em out athirt the pool, Or Winter’s clouds do gather dark An’ wet, wi’ raïn, the elem’s bark, You’ll zee his pretty smile betwixt His little sheäde-mark’d lips a-fix’d; As there his little sheäpe do bide Drough day an’ night, an’ time an’ tide. An’ never change his size or dress, Nor overgrow his prettiness. But, oh! thik child, that we do vind In childhood still, do call to mind A little bwoy a-call’d by death, Long years agoo, vrom our sad he’th; ​An’ I, in thought, can zee en dim The seäme in feäce, the seäme in lim’. My heäir mid whiten as the snow, My limbs grow weak, my step wear slow, My droopèn head mid slowly vall Above the han’-staff’s glossy ball, An’ yeet, vor all a wid’nèn span Ov years, mid change a livèn man, My little child do still appear To me wi’ all his childhood’s gear, ’Ithout a beard upon his chin, ’Ithout a wrinkle in his skin, A-livèn on, a child the seäme In look, an’ sheäpe, an’ size, an’ neäme.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Thorns in the Geäte

THE THORNS IN THE GEÄTE.
Ah! Meäster Collins overtook
Our knot o’ vo’k a-stannèn still, Last Zunday, up on Ivy Hill, To zee how strong the corn did look. An’ he staÿ’d back awhile an’ spoke A vew kind words to all the vo’k, Vor good or joke, an’ wi’ a smile Begun a-plaÿèn wi’ a chile.
The zull, wi’ iron zide awry, Had long a-vurrow’d up the vield; The heavy roller had a-wheel’d It smooth vor showers vrom the sky; The bird-bwoy’s cry, a-risèn sh’ill, An’ clacker, had a-left the hill, All bright but still, vor time alwone To speed the work that we’d a-done.
Down drough the wind, a-blowèn keen, Did gleäre the nearly cloudless sky, An’ corn in bleäde, up ancle-high, ’Ithin the geäte did quiver green; An’ in the geäte a-lock’d there stood A prickly row o’ thornèn wood ​Vor vo’k vor food had done their best, An’ left to Spring to do the rest.
“The geäte,” he cried, “a-seal’d wi’ thorn Vrom harmvul veet’s a-left to hold The bleäde a-springèn vrom the mwold, While God do ripen it to corn. An’ zoo in life let us vulvil Whatever is our Meäker’s will, An’ then bide still, wi’ peacevul breast, While He do manage all the rest.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Turn o' the Days

THE TURN O’ THE DAYS.
O the wings o’ the rook wer a-glitterèn bright, As he wheel’d on above, in the zun’s evenèn light, An’ noo snow wer a-left, but in patches o’ white,  On the hill at the turn o’ the days. An’ along on the slope wer the beäre-timber’d copse, Wi’ the dry wood a-sheakèn, wi’ red-twiggèd tops. Vor the dry-flowèn wind, had a-blow’d off the drops  O’ the rain, at the turn o’ the days.
There the stream did run on, in the sheäde o’ the hill, So smooth in his flowèn, as if he stood still, An’ bright wi’ the skylight, did slide to the mill,  By the meäds, at the turn o’ the days. An’ up by the copse, down along the hill brow, Wer vurrows a-cut down, by men out at plough, So straïght as the zunbeams, a-shot drough the bough  O’ the tree at the turn o’ the days.
​Then the boomèn wold clock in the tower did mark His vive hours, avore the cool evenèn wer dark, An’ ivy did glitter a-clung round the bark  O’ the tree, at the turn o’ the days. An’ womèn a-fraïd o’ the road in the night, Wer a-heästenèn on to reach hwome by the light, A-castèn long sheädes on the road, a-dried white,  Down the hill, at the turn o’ the days.
The father an’ mother did walk out to view The moss-bedded snow-drop, a-sprung in the lew, An’ hear if the birds wer a-zingèn anew,  In the boughs, at the turn o’ the days. An’ young vo’k a-laughèn wi’ smooth glossy feäce, Did hie over vields, wi’ a light-vooted peäce, To friends where the tow’r did betoken a pleäce  Among trees, at the turn o’ the days.
# Port of Seattle v. Oregon & Washington Railroad Company

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
255 U.S. 56
Port of Seattle v. Oregon & Washington Railroad Company
Argued: Dec. 6, 1920. --- Decided: Jan 31, 1921
[Syllabus from pages 56-57 intentionally omitted]
Messrs. Leander T. Turner, Harold Preston, and O. B. Thorgrimson, all of Seattle, Wash, for appellant.
Messrs. W. H. Boyle, R. S. Terhune, and George F. Aust, all of Seattle, Wash., and Henry W. Clark, of New Yrok City, for appellees.
Mr. Justice BRANDEIS 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
# Port Richmond Bergen Point Ferry Company v. Board of Chosen Freeholders of the County of Hudson

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
234 U.S. 317
Port Richmond Bergen Point Ferry Company v. Board of Chosen Freeholders of the County of Hudson
Argued: March 4, 1914. --- Decided: June 8, 1914
Mr. Frank Bergen for plaintiff in error.
[Argument of Counsel from pages 318-320 intentionally omitted]
Mr. James J. Murphy for defendant in error.
Mr. Justice Hughes 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).
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# Port Chester Daily Item/1979/Joseph Lowe

Joseph Lowe (1903-1979) in the Port Chester Daily Item on 28 August 1979.
Joseph Lowe. Joseph Lowe, a former longtime Rye resident, died Monday at Cape Cod Hospital, Hyannis, Massachusetts. A resident of Friendship Lane, Brewster, Massachusetts, he was 75. Son of the late Ira and Anna Lindauer Lowe, he was born in New York City on September 9, 1903. His wife, Mary Friese Lowe, predeceased him in 1972. He is survived by a sister, Mrs. Blanche Wahl Testerman of Coronado, California, and a niece and nephew.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was legally published within the United States (or the United Nations Headquarters in New York subject to Section 7 of the United States Headquarters Agreement) between 1929 and 1977 (inclusive) without a copyright notice.
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.
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# Port Chester Daily Item/1945/Mrs. Sophie Davis

Sophie Lindauer (1874-1945) in the Port Chester Daily Item on October 22, 1945.
Mrs. Sophie Davis. Mrs. Sophie Davis, widow of Louis Davis, died at her home 40 Elmont Avenue, Port Chester, yesterday afternoon, Mrs. Davis who was 71 years old was born in Bound Brook, New Jersey, the daughter of Mary Sheehan Lindauer and Louis Lindauer. She is survived by a sister Miss Addie Lindauer of Port Chester.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was legally published within the United States (or the United Nations Headquarters in New York subject to Section 7 of the United States Headquarters Agreement) before 1964, and copyright was not renewed.
* For Class A renewal records (books only) published between 1923 and 1963, check the Stanford University Copyright Renewal Database.
* For other renewal records of publications between 1922–1950, see the University of Pennsylvania copyright records.
* For all records since 1978, search the U.S. Copyright Office records.
Works could have had their copyright renewed between January 1st of the 27th year after publication or registration and December 31st of the 28th year. As this work's copyright was not renewed, it entered the public domain on January 1st of the 29th year.
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.
It is imperative that contributors ascertain that there is no evidence of a copyright renewal before using this license. Failure to do so will result in the deletion of the work as a copyright violation.
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