OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Mountain Interval/Birches

When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay. Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-coloured As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground, Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm, I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows-- Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or winter, and could play alone. One by one he subdued his father's trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be. It's when I'm weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig's having lashed across it open. I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate wilfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
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 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 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
# Mountain Interval/Christmas Trees

THE CITY had withdrawn into itself And left at last the country to the country; When between whirls of snow not come to lie And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove A stranger to our yard, who looked the city, Yet did in country fashion in that there He sat and waited till he drew us out A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was. He proved to be the city come again To look for something it had left behind And could not do without and keep its Christmas. He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees; My woods—the young fir balsams like a place Where houses all are churches and have spires. I hadn’t thought of them as Christmas Trees. I doubt if I was tempted for a moment To sell them off their feet to go in cars And leave the slope behind the house all bare, Where the sun shines now no warmer than the moon. I’d hate to have them know it if I was. Yet more I’d hate to hold my trees except As others hold theirs or refuse for them, Beyond the time of profitable growth, The trial by market everything must come to. I dallied so much with the thought of selling. Then whether from mistaken courtesy And fear of seeming short of speech, or whether From hope of hearing good of what was mine, I said, “There aren’t enough to be worth while.” “I could soon tell how many they would cut, You let me look them over.”
“You could look. But don’t expect I’m going to let you have them.” Pasture they spring in, some in clumps too close That lop each other of boughs, but not a few Quite solitary and having equal boughs All round and round. The latter he nodded “Yes” to, Or paused to say beneath some lovelier one, With a buyer’s moderation, “That would do.” I thought so too, but wasn’t there to say so. We climbed the pasture on the south, crossed over, And came down on the north. He said, “A thousand.”
“A thousand Christmas trees!—at what apiece?”
He felt some need of softening that to me: “A thousand trees would come to thirty dollars.”
Then I was certain I had never meant To let him have them. Never show surprise! But thirty dollars seemed so small beside The extent of pasture I should strip, three cents (For that was all they figured out apiece), Three cents so small beside the dollar friends I should be writing to within the hour Would pay in cities for good trees like those, Regular vestry-trees whole Sunday Schools Could hang enough on to pick off enough. A thousand Christmas trees I didn’t know I had! Worth three cents more to give away than sell, As may be shown by a simple calculation. Too bad I couldn’t lay one in a letter. I can’t help wishing I could send you one, In wishing you herewith a Merry Christmas.
# Mountain Interval/Brown's Descent, or the Willy-nilly Slide

BROWN lived at such a lofty farm That everyone for miles could see His lantern when he did his chores In winter after half-past three.
And many must have seen him make His wild descent from there one night, ’Cross lots, ’cross walls, ’cross everything, Describing rings of lantern light.
Between the house and barn the gale Got him by something he had on And blew him out on the icy crust That cased the world, and he was gone!
Walls were all buried, trees were few: He saw no stay unless he stove A hole in somewhere with his heel. But though repeatedly he strove
And stamped and said things to himself, And sometimes something seemed to yield, He gained no foothold, but pursued His journey down from field to field.
Sometimes he came with arms outspread Like wings, revolving in the scene Upon his longer axis, and With no small dignity of mien.
Faster or slower as he chanced, Sitting or standing as he chose, According as he feared to risk His neck, or thought to spare his clothes,
He never let the lantern drop. And some exclaimed who saw afar The figures he described with it, ”I wonder what those signals are
Brown makes at such an hour of night! He’s celebrating something strange. I wonder if he’s sold his farm, Or been made Master of the Grange.”
He reeled, he lurched, he bobbed, he checked; He fell and made the lantern rattle (But saved the light from going out.) So half-way down he fought the battle
Incredulous of his own bad luck. And then becoming reconciled To everything, he gave it up And came down like a coasting child.
“Well—I—be—” that was all he said, As standing in the river road, He looked back up the slippery slope (Two miles it was) to his abode.
Sometimes as an authority On motor-cars, I’m asked if I Should say our stock was petered out, And this is my sincere reply:
Yankees are what they always were. Don’t think Brown ever gave up hope Of getting home again because He couldn’t climb that slippery slope;
Or even thought of standing there Until the January thaw Should take the polish off the crust. He bowed with grace to natural law,
And then went round it on his feet, After the manner of our stock; Not much concerned for those to whom, At that particular time o’clock,
It must have looked as if the course He steered was really straight away From that which he was headed for— Not much concerned for them, I say:
No more so than became a man— And politician at odd seasons. I’ve kept Brown standing in the cold While I invested him with reasons;
But now he snapped his eyes three times; Then shook his lantern, saying, “Ile’s ’Bout out!” and took the long way home By road, a matter of several miles.
# Mountain Interval/Locked Out

When we locked up the house at night, We always locked the flowers outside And cut them off from the window light. The time I dreamed the door was tried And brushed with buttons upon sleeves, The flowers were out there with the thieves. Yet nobody molested them! We did find one nasturtium Upon the steps with bitten stem. I may have been to blame for that: I always thought it must have been Some flower I played with as I sat At dusk to watch the moon down early.
# Mountain Interval/Hyla Brook

By June our brook’s run out of song and speed. Sought for much after that, it will be found Either to have gone groping underground (And taken with it all the Hyla breed That shouted in the mist a month ago, Like ghost of sleigh-bells in a ghost of snow)— Or flourished and come up in jewel-weed, Weak foliage that is blown upon and bent Even against the way its waters went. Its bed is left a faded paper sheet Of dead leaves stuck together by the heat— A brook to none but who remember long. This as it will be seen is other far Than with brooks taken otherwhere in song. We love the things we love for what they are.
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 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 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
# Mountain Interval/A Time to Talk

When a friend calls to me from the road And slows his horse to a meaning walk, I don’t stand still and look around On all the hills I haven’t hoed, And shout from where I am, What is it? No, not as there is a time to talk. I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground, Blade-end up and five feet tall, And plod: I go up to the stone wall For a friendly visit.
# Mountain Interval/An Encounter

ONCE on the kind of day called "weather breeder," When the heat slowly hazes and the sun By its own power seems to be undone, I was half boring through, half climbing through A swamp of cedar. Choked with oil of cedar And scurf of plants, and weary and over-heated, And sorry I ever left the road I knew, I paused and rested on a sort of hook That had me by the coat as good as seated, And since there was no other way to look, Looked up toward heaven, and there against the blue, Stood over me a resurrected tree, A tree that had been down and raised again— A barkless spectre. He had halted too, As if for fear of treading upon me. I saw the strange position of his hands— Up at his shoulders, dragging yellow strands Of wire with something in it from men to men. "You here?" I said. "Where aren’t you nowadays And what’s the news you carry—if you know? And tell me where you’re off for—Montreal? Me? I’m not off for anywhere at all. Sometimes I wander out of beaten ways Half looking for the orchid Calypso."
# Mountain Interval/Bond and Free

LOVE has earth to which she clings With hills and circling arms about— Wall within wall to shut fear out. But Thought has need of no such things, For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.
On snow and sand and turf, I see Where Love has left a printed trace With straining in the world’s embrace. And such is Love and glad to be. But Thought has shaken his ankles free.
Thought cleaves the interstellar gloom And sits in Sirius’ disc all night, Till day makes him retrace his flight, With smell of burning on every plume, Back past the sun to an earthly room.
His gains in heaven are what they are. Yet some say Love by being thrall And simply staying possesses all In several beauty that Thought fares far To find fused in another star.
# Moral tales/The Country Laſs and her Milk-Pail

IT happen'd on a ſummer's day, A country laſs, as freſh as May, Clad in a wholeſome ruffet gown, Was going to the market town; So blythe her looks, ſo ſimply clean, You'd take her for a May-day queen; Save ſtead of garland, ſays the tale, Her head bore Brindy's loaded pail. As on her way ſhe paſs'd along, She humm'd the fragments of a ſong; She did not ham for want of thought, ​Quite pleas'd with what to ſale ſhe brought, And reckon'd, by her own account, When all was ſold the whole amount. Thus, ſhe, in time, this little ware, Will turn to great account with care ; My milk being ſold for-ſo and ſo, I'll buy ſome eggs as market go, And ſet them-at the time I fix, Theſe eggs will bring as many chicks. I'll ſpare no pains to feed them well, They'll bring vaſt profit when they ſell ; With this I'll buy a little pig, And when 'tis grown up fat and big, I'll ſell it to my neighbour Howe, And with the money buy a cow. This cow will ſurely have a calf, And there's the profit, half and half ; Beſides, there's butter, milk, and cheese To keep the market when I pleaſe, All which I'll ſell and buy a farm, Then ſhall of ſweethearts have a swarm. Oh ! then for ribbons, gloves, and rings, Ay ! more than twenty pretty things. One brings me this, another that, And I ſhall have--I scarce know what. Fir'd with the thought, she gave a bound, And down came milk-pail on the ground ; Eggs, fowls, pig, hog, (ah, well a-day !) Cow, calf, and farm-all ſwam away.
Be warn'd by this, ye British fair, And build no caſtles in the air.
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
# Morales v. City of Galveston

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Morales v. City of Galveston."
* 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.
* Morales v. City of Galveston (364 U.S. 295)
* Morales v. City of Galveston (370 U.S. 165)
# Moral tales

CHEAP TRACTS,
Calculated to promote the Interests of Religion, Virtue, and Humanity.
No. VIII.
Moral Tales:
CONTAINING,
The Unkind Daughter,
The Dutiful Daughter & Grand-Daughter,
The Complaining Huſbands,
AND,
The Desponding Couple,
To which is added,
The Country Laſs and her Milk-Pail.
DUNBAR: Printed, by G. MILLER : at whoſe Shop may be had a variet) of Pamphlets, Ballads, Children's Books, Pictures, Catechiſms,&c.
WHOLESALE AND RETAIL.
* The Unkind Daughter
* The Dutiful Daughter & Grand-Daughter
* The Complaining Huſbands
* The Desponding Couple
* The Country Laſs and her Milk-Pail
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
# More English Fairy Tales/A Son of Adam

See note to tale 67
A Son of Adam
A MAN was one day working. It was very hot, and he was digging. By-and-by he stopped to rest and wipe his face; and he was very angry to think he had to work so hard only because of Adam's sin. So he complained bitterly, and said some very hard words about Adam.
It happened that his master heard him, and he asked, "Why do you blame Adam? You'd ha' done just like Adam, if you'd a-been in his place."
"No, I shouldn't," said the man; "I should ha' know'd better."
"Well, I'll try you," says his master; "come to me at dinner-time."
So come dinner-time, the man came, and his master took him into a room where the table was a-set with good things of all sorts. And he said: "Now, you can eat as much as ever you like from any of the dishes on the table; but don't touch the covered dish in the middle till I come back." And with that the master went out of the room and left the man there all by himself.
​So the man sat down and helped himself, and ate some o' this dish and some o' that, and enjoyed himself finely. But after awhile, as his master didn't come back, he began to look at the covered dish, and to wonder whatever was in it. And he wondered more and more, and he says to himself, "It must be something very nice. Why shouldn't I just look at it? I won't touch it. There can't be any harm in just peeping." So at last he could hold back no longer, and he lifted up the cover a tiny bit; but he couldn't see anything. Then he lifted it up a bit more, and out popped a mouse. The man tried to catch it; but it ran away and jumped off the table and he ran after it. It ran first into one corner, and then, just as he thought he'd got it, into another, and under the table, and all about the room. And the man made such a clatter, jumping and banging and running round after the mouse, a-trying to catch it, that at last his master came in.
"Ah!" he said; "never you blame Adam again, my man!"
# Men-at-the-Bar/McMorran, Alexander

​McMorran, Alexander, M.A. Edinburgh Univ., a member of the South-eastern circuit, author of Married Women's Property Act, a student of the Middle Temple 19 Nov., 1872, equity prize 1875, called to the bar 17 Nov., 1875 (eldest son of Thomas McMorran, of Newtown Stewart, co. Wigtown); born , ; married 25 Jan., 1883, Edith Kate, youngest dau. of G. E. Macmorran, of London, solicitor.
    Lordship Lane, Dulwich, S.E.; Goldsmith Buildings, Temple, E.C.
# Men-at-the-Bar/Mead, Frederick

​Mead, Frederick, a member of the South-eastern circuit, counsel to the treasury at the Middlesex sessions, joint editor of Archbold's Quarter Sessions, 4th edn., associate of King's Coll., London, a student of the Middle Temple 31 Oct., 1866, called to the bar 7 June, 1869 (2nd son of George Edward Mead, of London, solicitor); born 22 July, 1847; married 7 Sept., 1878, Sophia, youngest dau. of Richard Henry Poland, Esq., of Blackheath.
    Bridge House, Lordship Lane, Dulwich, S.E.; 11, King's Bench Walk, Temple, E.C.
# Men-at-the-Bar/McNiven, Henry

​McNiven, Henry, M.A., Trin. Coll., Camb., 1851, a member of the South-eastern circuit, a student of the Inner Temple 16 Nov., 1848 (then aged 23), called to the bar 30 April, 1852 (2nd son of Charles McNiven, Esq., of Perrysfield, Surrey); born , 1825.
    Perrysfield, Godstone; 4, New Court, Carey Street, or 3, Dr. Johnson's Buildings, Temple, E.C.
# Men-at-the-Bar/McWatters, George

​McWatters, George, B.A. Queen's Univ., Ireland, collector and magistrate Salem, Madras, a student of the Inner Temple 29 Oct., 1872 (then aged 31), called to the bar 6 June, 1874 (3rd son of James McWatters, late of Newry. co. Armagh, dec.); born , 1841.
    Salem, Madras.
# Men-at-the-Bar/McWhinnie, Sydney Bryant

​McWhinnie, Sydney Bryant, M.A., Trin. Coll., Camb., 1869, late capt. royal Sussex militia, a student of Lincoln's Inn 16 Oct., 1863 (then aged 21), called to the bar 26 Jan., 1867 (only son of John Sidney McWhinnie, of Brighton, solicitor, dec.); born , 1842.
    New University Club, S.W.
# Men-at-the-Bar/McMillan, Robert Furse

​McMillan, Robert Furse, LL.B., Trin. Coll., Camb., 1880, a member of the Western circuit, a student of the Inner Temple 3 July, 1878 (then aged 20), studentship Trin., 1880, called to the bar 11 May, 1881 eldest son of John McMillan, of London, bar.-at-law); born , 1858.
    161, Adelaide Road, N.W.; 6, Pump Court, Temple, E.C.
# Men-at-the-Bar/McNaughton, David Norman

​McNaughton, David Norman, educated at Glasgow Univ., a student of the Middle Temple 2 Nov., 1880, 2nd class scholarship real and personal property Jan., 1881, called to the bar 6 June, 1883 (youngest son of James McNaughton, of Smithfield, co. Ayr); born 26 Jan., 1857.
    6, Middle Temple Lane, E.C.
# Men-at-the-Bar/McNeill, Alexander

​McNeill, Alexander, matric. Trin. Coll., Dublin, a student of the Middle Temple 12 Nov., 1864, called to the bar 6 June, 1868 (youngest son of Malcolm McNeill, of the Conan, Larne, co. Antrim); born , ; married 26 Aug., 1872, Hester Law Howard, widow of John McNeill, lieut. Bombay fusiliers.
    The Conan, Larne, Ireland.
# Men-at-the-Bar/McNish, Alexander Copland

​McNish, Alexander Copland, B.A. Brasenose Coll., Oxon, a student of Lincoln's Inn 10 June, 1875 (then aged 20), called to the bar 25 June, 1879 (2nd son of John McNish, late of Manchester, gent., dec.); born , 1855.
# Men-at-the-Bar/Mears, Thomas Lambert

​Mears, Thomas Lambert, M.A., LL.D. London Univ. 1870 and a member of Convocation, associate of King's Coll., London, lieut.-col. late commanding 5th Middlesex rifle volunteers, author of Institutes of Gaius and Justinian, with Translation, and Analysis of Ortolan's Roman Law, a member of the South-eastern circuit, a student of the Inner Temple 1 Nov., 1865 (then aged 26), called to the bar 17 Nov., 1868 (2nd son of Charies Thompson Mears, of New York, U.S.A., formerly of London, dec.); born , 1839; married 7 Aug., 1875, Alice Catherine, eldest dau. of John Henry Westcar Peel, Esq., and has issue (see Foster's Baronetage).
    134, Portsdown Road, W.; 9, King's Bench Walk, Temple, E.C.
# Mott v. United States

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
283 U.S. 747
Mott v. United States
Argued: Dec. 2, 1930. --- Decided: June 1, 1931
Mr. Charles B. Rogers, of Tulsa, Okl., for petitioner.
The Attorney General, for the United States.
Mr. Justice VAN DEVANTER 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
# Motto

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Motto."
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, 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.
* "Motto," in Encyclopædia Britannica (11th ed., 1911)
* The Motto, a poem by Abraham Cowley
# Mottram v. United States

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
271 U.S. 15
Mottram v. United States
Argued: Jan. 15, 1926. --- Decided: April 12, 1926
Mr. Jennings C. Wise, of Washington, D. C., for appellant.
Mr. Justice BUTLER 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
# Motto to the Songs of Innocence & of Experience (1982 ed.)

Extracted from Selected Poems from William Blake, P.H. Butter, Everyman, 1982 (ISBN 0460870688)
Motto to the Songs of Innocence & of Experience
The Good are attracted by Men’s perceptions And think not for themselves, Till Experience teaches them to catch And to Cage the Fairies & Elves.
And then the Knave begins to snarl, And the Hypocrite to howl, And all his good Friends show their private ends, And the Eagle is know from the Owl.