OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Pennsylvania Public Utility Commission v. Pennsylvania Railroad Company

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
382 U.S. 281
Pennsylvania Public Utility Commission v. Pennsylvania Railroad Company
William A. Goichman and Joseph C. Bruno, for appellant.
Hugh B. Cox and Windsor F. Cousins, for appellee.
PER CURIAM.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Pennsylvania House Bill 755 (2011)

* related portals: Pennsylvania General Assembly.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY OF PENNSYLVANIA HOUSE BILL No. 755 Session of 2011 AN ACT
The General Assembly of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania hereby enacts as follows:
Section 1. Section 444 of the act of August 9, 1955 (P.L.323, No.130), known as The County Code, amended April 2, 2002 (P.L.209, No.18), is amended to read:
    Section 444. Other Meeting Expenses Paid by Counties.--
       (a) In addition to the expenses hereinbefore authorized, the necessary expenses of the annual meetings of the associations hereinafter named, including annual association dues, printing, committee expenses and stenographical expense, shall be paid in equal parts by the several counties whose officers are members of the respective associations.
       (b) In the case of county commissioners, county solicitor and county clerk, county controllers, county auditors, sheriffs, register of wills, clerks of orphans' courts, county treasurers, recorders of deeds, prothonotaries, clerks of courts, public defenders, district attorneys, jury commissioners and coroners, the portion of the annual expenses charged to each county of the third and fourth class shall not exceed six hundred dollars ($600), to each county of the fifth and sixth class, five hundred dollars ($500), to each county of the seventh and eighth class, four hundred dollars ($400), and in the case of the directors of veterans' affairs the portion charged to each county shall not exceed [one hundred dollars ($100)] four hundred dollars ($400), and in the case of the probation officers an annual membership subscription not exceeding ten dollars ($10) per member shall be paid by the county, and shall be in lieu of the expenses hereinbefore in this section provided for other county officers.
Section 2. This act shall take effect in 60 days.
This work is in the public domain in the U.S. because it is an edict of a government, local or foreign. See § 313.6(C)(2) of the Compendium II: Copyright Office Practices. Such documents include "legislative enactments, judicial decisions, administrative rulings, public ordinances, or similar types of official legal materials" as well as "any translation prepared by a government employee acting within the course of his or her official duties."
These do not include works of the Organization of American States, United Nations, or any of the UN specialized agencies. See Compendium III § 313.6(C)(2) and 17 U.S.C. 104(b)(5).
A non-American governmental edict may still be copyrighted outside the U.S. Similar to {{PD-in-USGov}}, the above U.S. Copyright Office Practice does not prevent U.S. states or localities from holding copyright abroad, depending on foreign copyright laws and regulations.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Pennsylvania Gas Company v. Public Service Commission Second District of State of New York

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
252 U.S. 23
Pennsylvania Gas Company v. Public Service Commission Second District of State of New York
Argued: Dec. 8 and 9, 1919. --- Decided: March 1, 1920
Messrs. John E. Mullin, of Kane, Pa., and Marion H. Fisher, of Jamestown, N. Y., for plaintiff in error.
[Argument of Counsel from pages 24-26 intentionally omitted]
Messrs. Ledyard P. Hale, of Albany, N. Y., and Louis L. Thrasher, of Jamestown, N. Y., for defendants in error.
Mr. Justice DAY 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
# Persia/Chapter 27

CHAPTER V.
FUNERALS AND TOMBS.
The Persians inter their dead with the same ceremonies which are practised by other Mahometan nations.
Though religion forbids graves to be covered with any ​structure whatever, yet the ostentation of the great has violated this precept, and left the observance of it to the very lowest class, who have only a piece of stone set up vertically at the end of the grave, with a moral inscription, or a passage from the Koran. The tombs of the poorer sort of people are built with bricks, with a small piece of marble at the head for the epitaph. Stone lions and rams rudely sculptured are very frequently seen in Persian burial-grounds, and are placed over the tombs of soldiers or those famed for their courage. The rich have over their tombs small cupolas resting on four pilasters. The largest and most considerable are called takieh, and are built over the remains of holy and learned men. Around these and such like monuments, are in general to be seen collections of minor tombs; for it is a received opinion, that those who are buried in the vicinity of a holy personage will meet with his support at the day of resurrection. The Persians, however, do not take the same care of their dead as the Turks. Their tombs are trampled on; paths frequently lead right over them; and epitaph, tomb-stone and all, are often carried away to be used as materials for building. The terrace which supports the gardens and buildings of the Bagh Jehan Nemah, at Shiraz, is almost entirely composed of tomb-stones; and at Ispahan, sepulchral inscriptions are often seen on the surface of a wall.
Mourning lasts forty days at the utmost. Black is not the livery of sorrow: that colour is abhorred by the Persians. They express grief, and mark the state of mourning, by sighs and moans, by abstaining from food for eight days, and by wearing garments of a brown or pale colour, adapted to the state of the mind. For ten days, their friends pay them frequent visits, and afford them all the consolations in their power. On the ninth, they take them to the bath, have their heads shaved, and supply them with new clothes. Here ends the full mourning: but their lamentations continue till the fortieth day; and they renew them twice or thrice a week, always at the hour when the deceased expired.
The grief of the women is more strongly expressed, and of longer continuance. Endowed by nature with keener sensibility than the other sex, and left by the death of a husband in a state of forlorn widowhood, to which they are generally doomed for the rest of their lives, they mourn for many months, paying daily visits to the grave, watering it with their tears, rending their garments, imposing on themselves bodily mortifications, and, in short, setting no bounds to the expression of their sorrow.
# Palo'mine (Hawkes)

Alternative titles for this work include Pal o' Mine and Pal O'Mine
Animal Stories By Clarence Hawkes
Pep: The Story of a Brave Dog
The White Czar
    The Story of a Polar Bear
Silversheene; King of Sled Dogs
Pal O'Mine: King of the Turf
Page 12
Pal o' Mine King of the Turf
Clarence Hawkes Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull
Milton Bradley Company Springfield·Massachusetts
Copyright, 1925 By Milton Bradley Company Springfield, Mass.
Bradley Quality Books
Printed in United States of America
Dedicated to the memory of Jim, the little black saddle horse of my boyhood.
Contents
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 1954, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 69 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
# Palms

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Palms."
* sister projects: 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.
* "Palms", a poem by Clark Ashton Smith
* Palms, a poetry magazine
# Poems (Curwen)/Child Angels

CHILD ANGELS.
# Pindar and Anacreon

* related portals: Ancient poetry.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Wheelwright's translation of Pindar's Victory Odes and Bourne's translation of the odes formerly attributed to Anacreon.
Layout 2
PINDAR.
TRANSLATED BY
THE REV. C. A. WHEELWRIGHT.
PREBENDARY OF LINCOLN.
AND
ANACREON.
TRANSLATED BY THOMAS BOURNE.
NEW-YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-ST.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# Poems (Victor)/Passing by Helicon

PASSING BY HELICON.
My steps are turned away, Yet my eyes linger still, On their beloved hill, In one long, last survey: Gazing through tears that multiply the view, Their passionate adieu.
O joy-empurpled height, Down whose enchanted sides The rosy mist now glides, How can I lose thy sight? How can my eyes turn where my feet must go, Trailing their way in woe?
​Gone is my strength of heart; The roses that I brought From thy dear bowers, and thought To keep, since we must part— Thy thornless roses, sweeter until now, Than round Hymettus' brow.
The golden-vested bees Find sweetest sweetness in— Such odors dwelt within The moist red hearts of these— Alas, no longer give out blissful breath, But odors rank with death.
Their dewiness is dank, It chills my pallid arms, Once blushing 'neath their charms, And their green stems hang lank, Stricken with leprosy, and fair no more, But withered to the core.
Vain thought, to bear along Into this torrid track, Whence no one turneth back With his first wanderer's song Yet on his lips, thy odors and thy dews, To deck these dwarfed yews.
​No more within thy vales, Beside thy plashing wells, Where sweet Euterpe dwells With songs of nightingales, And sounds of flutes that make pale Silence glow, Shall I their rapture know.
Farewell, ye stately palms Clashing your cymbal tones In thro' the mystic moans Of pines at solemn psalms; Ye myrtles, singing Love's inspired song, We part, and part for long.
Farewell, majestic peaks Whereon my listering soul Hath trembled to the roll Of thunders that Jove wreaks— And calm Minerva's oracles hath heard All more than now unstirred.
Adieu, ye beds of bloom; No more shall zephyr bring To me, upon its wing, Your loveliest perfume; No more upon your pure, immortal dyes, Shall rest my happy eyes.
​I pass by; at thy foot O mount of my delight, Ere yet from out thy sight, I drop my voiceless lute: Relentless Nemesis my doom hath sent— This cruel banishment.
# Poems (Victor)/Souvenir

SOUVENIR.
You ask me, "Do you think of me?" Dear, thoughts of thee are like this river, Which pours itself into the sea, Yet empties its own channel never.
All other thoughts are like these sail Drifting the river's surface over; They veer about with every gale— The river keeps its course forever.
So deep and still, so strong and true, The current of my soul sets thee-ward, Thy river I, my ocean you, And all myself am running seaward.
# Poems (Victor)/Poetry

POETRY.
The world's first singers sang heroic deeds Of gods and men upon their flutelike reeds; Sang to the chorded shell and tinkling lyre Of themes that touched the Olympian heights with fire, And made men godlike with divine desire.
# Poems (Victor)/The Old Man's Favorite

THE OLD MAN'S FAVORITE.
# Poems (Victor)/The Passing of Alice

THE PASSING OF ALICE.
In the city, hot and breathless city, At her open casement wide and high, With a face that moves our hearts to pity, Leans pale Alice, gazing on the sky; Gazing out above the housetops dreary, ​Where the countless chimneys crowd the view, Seeking with a wistful look and weary Through the smoke, a glimpse of heaven's blue.
Sighing "'Tis June; I see the pleasant meadows 'Round my home lie peaceful in the sun; Fleecy clouds flit overhead, and shadows Chase the wind-blown dimples as they run Down the ripening hay-fields, and the clover Nods its honied blossoms in the breeze; Sun-steeped sweetnesses exhale, and over Cups of nectar drone the laden bees.
Down the lane the locust trees are shining, White with scented plumes, too sickly sweet, Dainty eglantine, the fences twining, Sheds its fragrance to the quiet street; In the elms that meet above our dwelling Orioles swing, singing to their young— Happy birds, whose pretty throats are swelling With the joy of their home-coming song.
List! I hear the children's voices singing Roundelays, as they bring home the kine, Sweet-breathed heifers round whose necks are clinging Garlands of some flowering wayside vine; Hear my mother, as they laugh and linger, ​Call each name—her rosary of pearls— See her touch each one with gentle finger, This one's cheek, and that one's sunny curls;
Hear my father's mellow tones commingling With the sounds a-field, the click of hoes, The clashing of the corn-blades, the ear-tingling, Faint-growing shots along the bristling rows. Oh, the free, fair haven of my childhood! Oh, the sweet, sure love that never failed! Oh, the pure, bright fancies dreamed in wildwood Ere the dews of life's young morn exhaled!
Is this summer? I am cold and weary. June? I see the pleasant fields no more. Home? The landscape wintry is and dreary, And no mother meets me at the door."— Ah, her eyes are closed upon these shadows; Hushed for her the birds' song, the bees' drone; As her white feet touch the heavenly meadows, Sweet with asphodel, she finds her own.
# Poems (Victor)/Sunset at the Mouth of the Columbia

SUNSET AT THE MOUTH OF THE COLUMBIA.
There sinks the sun; like cavalier of old, Servant of crafty Spain, He flaunts his banner, barred with blood and gold, Wide o'er the western main; A thousand spear-heads glint beyond the trees In columns bright and long, While kindling fancy hears upon the breeze The swell of shout and song.
​And yet, not here Spain's gay, adventurous host, Dipped sword or planted cross; The treasures guarded by this rock-bound coast, Counted them gain nor loss. The blue Columbia, sired by the eternal hills, And wedded with the sea, O'er golden sands, tithes from a thousand rills, Rolled in lone majesty—
Through deep ravine, through burning, barren plain, Through wild and rocky strait, Through forests dark, and mountains rent in twain, Toward the sunset gate, While curious eyes, keen with the lust of gold, Caught not the informing gleam, These mighty breakers age on age have rolled To meet this mighty stream.
Age after age these noble hills have kept, The same majestic lines: Age after age the horizon's edge been swept By fringe of pointed pines. Summers and Winters circling came and went, Bringing no change of scene; Unresting, and unhasting, and unspent, Dwelt nature here serene.
​Till God's own time to plant of Freedom's seed, In this selected soil, Denied forever unto blood and greed, But blest to honest toil. There sinks the sun! Gay Cavalier no more, His banners trail the sea, And all his legions shining on the shore Fade into mystery.
The swelling tide laps on the shingly beach, Like any starving thing, And hungry breakers, white with wrath, upreach, In a vain clamoring. The shadows fall; just level with mine eye Sweet Hesper stands and shines, And shines beneath an arc of golden sky, Pinked round with pointed pines.
A noble scene, all breadth, deep tone and power, Suggesting glorious themes, Shaming the idler who would fill the hour With unsubstantial dreams. Be mine the dreams prophetic, shadowing forth The things that yet shall be, As through this gate the treasures of the North Flow outward to the sea.
Astoria, Or., 1865.
# Poems (Victor)/The Player

THE PLAYER.
He played as one walks in his sleep, Unconscious of the heights he dares, Un-souled, and treading unawares The edges of a dangerous deep.
I listened in an ecstacy To music loved but long forgot, And stealing softly to the spot Gazed on the player wonderingly.
I saw his fingers touch the keys With skill no master ever taught, While all my being, lost in thought, Vibrated to his harmonies.
I saw—it was no idle dream— A formless Presence glide and glance Behind the keys, a radiance That on the ivory lit a gleam.
Ah, then I knew whence came the skill That touched with flame the instrument, And to his dreamy fingering lent A power beyond the player's will.
The old, old songs she loved so well, By her pure soul interpreted, With all the poet meant and said— Thence came the player's wondrous spell.
# Poems (Victor)/The Post-Boy's Song

THE POST-BOY'S SONG.
The night is wild, and the road is long, The scudding clouds fly fast, The swift wind sings a dreary song And the trees creak in the blast; The moon is down in the tossing sea, The stars shed not a ray, The lightning flashes frightfully, But I must on my way.
Like a shuttle thrown by the hand of fate Forward and back I go Bearing a thread to the desolate To darken his web of woe, A brighter thread to the glad of heart, And a mingled one for all, Yet the dark and light I cannot part, Nor alter their hues at all.
Full many a hundred times have I Gone o'er it in the dark, 'Till my faithful steeds can well descry Each long familiar mark, Withal should peril come tonight God have us in his care, For all alone, and without light The boldest well beware.
​Now, on, my steeds; the lightning's flash An instant gilds our way; But steady! by that fearful crash The heavens seem rent away. Soho, here comes the blast anew, And a pelting flood of rain; Steady! a sea seems bursting through A rift in some upper main.
'Tis a terrible night, a dreary hour, But who will remember to pray That the care of the storm-controlling power Be over the post-boy's way? The wayward wanderer from his home, The sailor upon the sea, Have prayers to bless them where they roam— Who thinketh to pray for me?
The storm has passed. Up swims the moon Like a stately ship at sea; Now on, my steeds! this brilliant noon Of a night so black shall be A scene for us. Toss high your heads, And merrily speed away, We shall startle the sleepers in their beds Before the dawn of day.
​Like a shutter thrown by the hand of fate Forward and back I go, Bearing a thread to the desolate To darken his web of woe, A brighter thread to the glad of heart, And a mingled one for all. But the dark and light I cannot part, Nor alter their hues at all.
Wooster, Ohio, 1849.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/The Flag Goes By

The Flag Goes By.
"The Flag Goes By" is included out of regard to a boy of eleven years who pleased me by his great appreciation of it. It teaches the lesson of reverence to our great national symbol. It is published by permission of the author, Henry Holcomb Bennett, of Ohio. (1863-.)
Hats off! Along the street there comes A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, A flash of colour beneath the sky: Hats off! The flag is passing by!
​Blue and crimson and white it shines Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines. Hats off! The colours before us fly; But more than the flag is passing by.
Sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great, Fought to make and to save the State: Weary marches and sinking ships; Cheers of victory on dying lips;
Days of plenty and years of peace; March of a strong land's swift increase; Equal justice, right, and law, Stately honour and reverend awe;
Sign of a nation, great and strong Toward her people from foreign wrong: Pride and glory and honour,—all Live in the colours to stand or fall.
Hats off! Along the street there comes A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums; And loyal hearts are beating high: Hats off! The flag is passing by!
Henry Holcomb Bennett.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/The God of Music

The God of Music.
"The God of Music," by Edith M. Thomas, an Ohio poetess now living. In this sonnet the poetess has touched the power of Wordsworth or Keats and placed herself among the immortals.
The God of Music dwelleth out of doors. All seasons through his minstrelsy we meet, Breathing by field and covert haunting-sweet From organ-lofts in forests old he pours: A solemn harmony: on leafy floors To smooth autumnal pipes he moves his feet, Or with the tingling plectrum of the sleet In winter keen beats out his thrilling scores. Leave me the reed unplucked beside the stream, And he will stoop and fill it with the breeze; Leave me the viol's frame in secret trees, Unwrought, and it shall wake a druid theme; Leave me the whispering shell on Nereid shores. The God of Music dwelleth out of doors.
Edith M. Thomas.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/The Harp That Once Through Tara's Halls

The Harp That Once Through Tara's Halls
The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts, that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more.
No more to chiefs and ladies bright The harp of Tara swells; ​The chord alone, that breaks at night, Its tale of ruin tells. Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, The only throb she gives Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that still she lives.
Thomas Moore.