OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Records of Woman: with Other Poems/The Spells of Home

THE SPELLS OF HOME.
There blend the ties that strengthen  Our hearts in hours of grief, The silver links that lengthen  Joy's visits when most brief. Bernard Barton.
By the soft green light in the woody glade, On the banks of moss where thy childhood play'd; By the household tree thro' which thine eye First look'd in love to the summer-sky; By the dewy gleam, by the very breath Of the primrose tufts in the grass beneath, Upon thy heart there is laid a spell, Holy and precious—oh! guard it well!
By the sleepy ripple of the stream, Which hath lull'd thee into many a dream; By the shiver of the ivy-leaves To the wind of morn at thy casement-eaves, By the bees' deep murmur in the limes, By the music of the Sabbath-chimes, By every sound of thy native shade, Stronger and dearer the spell is made.
By the gathering round the winter hearth, When twilight call'd unto household mirth; By the fairy tale or the legend old In that ring of happy faces told, By the quiet hour when hearts unite In the parting prayer and the kind "Good-night;" By the smiling eye and the loving tone, Over thy life has the spell been thrown.
And bless that gift!—it hath gentle might, A guardian power and a guiding light.
It hath led the freeman forth to stand In the mountain-battles of his land; It' hath brought the wanderer o'er the seas To die on the hills of his own fresh breeze; And back to the gates of his father's hall, It hath led the weeping prodigal.
Yes! when thy heart in its pride would stray From the pure first loves of its youth away; When the sullying breath of the world would come O'er the flowers it brought from its childhood's home; Think thou again of the woody glade, And the sound by the rustling ivy made, Think of the tree at thy father's door, And the kindly spell shall have power once more!
# Records of Woman: with Other Poems/The Spirit's Mysteries

THE SPIRIT'S MYSTERIES.
And slight, withal, may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling  Aside forever;—it may be a sound— A tone of music—summer’s breath, or spring—  A flower—a leaf—the ocean—which may wound— Striking th' electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound. Childe Harold.
The power that dwelleth in sweet sounds to waken  Vague yearnings, like the sailors for the shore, And dim remembrances, whose hue seems taken  From some bright former state, our own no more; Is not this all a mystery?—Who shall say Whence are those thoughts, and whither tends their way?
The sudden images of vanish'd things,  That o'er the spirit flash, we know not why; Tones from some broken harp's deserted strings,  Warm sunset hues of summers long gone by, A rippling wave—the dashing of an oar— A flower scent floating past our parents' door;
A word—scarce noted in its hour perchance,  Yet back returning with a plaintive tone; A smile—a sunny or a mournful glance,  Full of sweet meanings now from this world flown; Are not these mysteries when to life they start, And press vain tears in gushes from the heart?
And the far wanderings of the soul in dreams,  Calling up shrouded faces from the dead, And with them bringing soft or solemn gleams,  Familiar objects brightly to o'erspread; And wakening buried love, or joy, or fear,— These are night's mysteries—who shall make them clear?
And the strange inborn sense of coming ill,  That ofttimes whispers to the haunted breast, In a low tone which nought can drown or still,  Midst feasts and melodies a secret guest; Whence doth that murmur wake, that shadow fall? Why shakes the spirit thus?—'tis mystery all!
Darkly we move—we press upon the brink  Haply of viewless worlds, and know it not; Yes! it may be, that nearer than we think,  Are those whom death has parted from our lot! Fearfully, wondrously, our souls are made— Let us walk humbly on, but undismay'd!
Humbly for knowledge strives in vain to feel  Her way amidst these marvels of the mind; Yet undismay’d—for do they not reveal  Th' immortal being with our dust entwin’d?— So let us deem! and e'en the tears they wake Shall then be blest, for that high nature's sake.
# Records of Woman: with Other Poems/The Sunbeam

THE SUNBEAM.
Thou art no lingerer in monarch's hall, A joy thou art, and a wealth to all! A bearer of hope unto land and sea— Sunbeam! what gift hath the world like thee?
Thou art walking the billows, and ocean smiles— Thou hast touch'd with glory his thousand isles; Thou hast lit up the ships, and the feathery foam, And gladden'd the sailor, like words from home.
To the solemn depths of the forest shades, Thou art streaming on thro' their green arcades, And the quivering leaves that have caught thy glow, Like fire-flies glance to the pools below.
I look'd on the mountains—a vapour lay Folding their heights in its dark array: Thou brakest forth—and the mist became A crown and a mantle of living flame.
I look'd on the peasant's lowly cot— Something of sadness had wrapt the spot;— But a gleam of thee on its lattice fell, And it laugh'd into beauty at that bright spell.
To the earth's wild places a guest thou art, Flushing the waste like the rose's heart; And thou scornest not from thy pomp to shed A tender smile on the ruin's head.
Thou tak'st thro' the dim church-aisle thy way, And its pillars from twilight flash forth to day, And its high pale tombs, with their trophies old, Are bath'd in a flood as of molten gold.
And thou turnest not from the humblest grave, Where a flower to the sighing winds may wave; Thou scatterest its gloom like the dreams of rest, Thou sleepest in love on its grassy breast.
Sunbeam of summer! oh! what is like thee? Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea!— One thing is like thee to mortals given, The faith touching all things with hues of Heaven!
# Records of Woman: with Other Poems/The Spanish Chapel

THE SPANISH CHAPEL.
Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb,  In life's early morning, hath hid from our eyes, Ere sin threw a veil o'er the spirit's young bloom,  Or earth had profan'd what was born for the skies. Moore.
I made a mountain-brook my guide,  Thro' a wild Spanish glen, And wandered, on its grassy side,  Far from the homes of men.
It lured me with a singing tone,  And many a sunny glance, To a green spot of beauty lone,  A haunt for old romance.
A dim and deeply-bosom'd grove  Of many an aged tree, Such as the shadowy violets love,  The fawn and forest-bee.
The darkness of the chestnut bough  There on the waters lay, The bright stream reverently below.  Check'd its exulting play;
And bore a music all subdued,  And led a silvery sheen, On thro' the breathing solitude  Of that rich leafy scene.
For something viewlessly around  Of solemn influence dwelt, In the soft gloom, and whispery sound,  Not to be told, but felt:
While sending forth a quiet gleam  Across the wood's repose, And o'er the twilight of the stream,  A lowly chapel rose.
A pathway to that still retreat  Thro' many a myrtle wound, And there a sight—how strangely sweet!  My steps in wonder bound.
For on a brilliant bed of flowers,  Even at the threshold made, As if to sleep thro' sultry hours,  A young fair child was laid.
To sleep?—oh! ne'er on childhood's eye,  And silken lashes press'd, Did the warm living slumber lie,  With such a weight of rest!
Yet still a tender crimson glow  Its cheek's pure marble dyed— 'Twas but the light's faint streaming flow  Thro' roses heap'd beside.
I stoop’d—the smooth round arm was chill,  The soft lip's breath was fled, And the bright ringlets hung so still—  The lovely child was dead!
"Alas!" I cried, "fair faded thing!  Thou hast wrung bitter tears, And thou hast left a wo, to cling  Round yearning hearts for years!"
But then a voice came sweet and low—  I turn'd, and near me sate A woman with a mourner's brow,  Pale, yet not desolate.
And in her still, clear, matron face,  All solemnly serene, A shadow'd image I could trace  Of that young slumberer's mien.
"Stranger! thou pitiest me," she said,  With lips that faintly smiled, "As here I watch beside my dead,  My fair and precious child.
"But know, the time-worn heart may be  By pangs in this world riven, Keener than theirs who yield, like me,  An angel thus to Heaven!"
# Records of Woman: with Other Poems/The Memorial Pillar

THE MEMORIAL PILLAR.
On the road-side between Penrith and Appleby, stands a small pillar, with this inscription:—"This pillar was erected in the year 1656, by Ann, Countess Dowager of Pembroke, for a memorial of her last parting, in this place, with her good and pious mother, Margaret, Countess Dowager of Cumberland, on the 2nd April, 1616."—See Notes to the "Pleasures of Memory."
THE MEMORIAL PILLAR.
Hast thou, thro' Eden's wild-wood vales pursued Each mountain-scene, magnificently rude, Nor with attention's lifted eye, revered That modest stone, by pious Pembroke rear'd, Which still records, beyond the pencil's power, The silent sorrows of a parting hour? Rogers.
Mother and child! whose blending tears  Have sanctified the place, Where, to the love of many years.  Was given one last embrace; Oh! ye have shrin'd a spell of power. Deep in your record of that hour!
A spell to waken solemn thought,  A still, small under-tone, That calls back days of childhood, fraught  With many a treasure gone; And smites, perchance, the hidden source, Tho' long untroubled—of remorse.
For who, that gazes on the stone  Which marks your parting spot, Who but a mother's love hath known,  The one love changing not? Alas! and haply learn'd its worth First with the sound of "Earth to earth?"
But thou, high-hearted daughter! thou,  O'er whose bright, honour'd head, Blessings and tears of holiest flow,  Ev'n here were fondly shed, Thou from the passion of thy grief, In its full burst, couldst draw relief.
For oh! tho' painful be th' excess,  The might wherewith it swells, In nature's fount no bitterness  Of nature's mingling, dwells; And thou hadst not, by wrong or pride, Poison'd the free and healthful tide.
But didst thou meet the face no more,  Which thy young heart first knew? And all—was all in this world o'er,  With ties thus close and true? It was!—On earth no other eye Could give thee back thine infancy.
No other voice could pierce the maze  Where deep within thy breast, The sounds and dreams of other days,  With memory lay at rest; No other smile to thee could bring A gladd'ning, like the breath of spring.
Yet, while thy place of weeping still  Its lone memorial keeps, While on thy name, midst wood and hill,  The quiet sunshine sleeps, And touches, in each graven line, Of reverential thought a sign;
Can I, while yet these tokens wear  The impress of the dead, Think of the love embodied there,  As of a vision fled? A perish'd thing, the joy and flower And glory of one earthly hour?
Not so!—I will not bow me so,  To thoughts that breathe despair! A loftier faith we need below,  Life's farewell words to bear. Mother and child!—Your tears are past— Surely your hearts have met at last!
# Records of Woman: with Other Poems/The Queen of Prussia's Tomb

THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA'S TOMB.
"This tomb is in the garden of Charlottenburgh, near Berlin. It was not without surprise that I came suddenly, among trees, upon a fair white Doric temple. I might, and should have deemed it a mere adornment of the grounds, but the cypress and the willow declare it a habitation of the dead. Upon a sarcophagus of white marble lay a sheet, and the outline of the human form was plainly visible beneath its folds. The person with me reverently turned it back, and displayed the statue of his Queen. It is a portrait-statue recumbent, said to be a perfect resemblance not as in death, but when she lived to bless and be blessed. Nothing can be more calm and kind than the expression of her features. The hands are folded on the bosom; the limbs are sufficiently crossed to show the repose of life.——Here the King brings her children annually, to offer garlands at her grave. These hang in withered mournfulness above this living image of their departed mother."—Sherer's Notes and Reflections during a Ramble in Germany.
THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA'S TOMB.
In sweet pride upon that insult keen She smiled; then drooping mute and broken-hearted, To the cold comfort of the grave departed. Milman.
It stands where northern willows weep,  A temple fair and lone; Soft shadows o'er its marble sweep,  From cypress-branches thrown; While silently around it spread, Thou feel'st the presence of the dead.
And what within is richly shrined?  A sculptured woman's form, Lovely in perfect rest reclined,  As one beyond the storm: Yet not of death, but slumber, lies The solemn sweetness on those eyes.
The folded hands, the calm pure face,  The mantle's quiet flow, The gentle, yet majestic grace,  Throned on the matron brow; These, in that scene of tender gloom, With a still glory robe the tomb.
There stands an eagle, at the feet  Of the fair image wrought; A kingly emblem—nor unmeet  To wake yet deeper thought: She whose high heart finds rest below, Was royal in her birth and wo.
There are pale garlands hung above,  Of dying scent and hue;— She was a mother—in her love  How sorrowfully true! Oh! hallow'd long be every leaf, The record of her children's grief!
She saw their birthright's warrior-crown  Of olden glory spoil'd, The standard of their sires borne down,  The shield's bright blazon soiled: She met the tempest meekly brave, Then turn'd, o'erwearied, to the grave.
She slumber'd; but it came—it came,  Her land's redeeming hour, With the glad shout, and signal-flame,  Sent on from tower to tower! Fast thro' the realm a spirit moved— 'Twas hers, the lofty and the loved.
Then was her name a note that rung  To rouse bold hearts from sleep, Her memory, as a banner flung  Forth by the Baltic deep; Her grief, a bitter vial pour'd To sanctify th' avenger's sword.
And the crown'd eagle spread again  His pinion to the sun; And the strong land shook off its chain—  So was the triumph won! But wo for earth, where sorrow's tone Still blends with victory's!—She was gone!*
# Psychological Observations

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Psychological Observations."
* 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.
* Psychological Observations (Studies in Pessimism)
* Psychological Observations (Religion: A Dialogue, Etc.)
Both are essays by Arthur Schopenhauer translated by Thomas Bailey Saunders appearing in different volumes of The Essays of Arthur Schopenhauer.
# Puddocky

Published in Büsching's Volks-Sagen, Märchen und Legenden (1812). This story was one of four stories not by the Brothers Grimm included in Edgar Taylor's German Popular Stories (1826), and as a result was also included in some later collections of the Grimms' stories
English-language translations of Das Mährchen von der Padde include:
* "Cherry, or the Frog-Bride" (1826), translated by Edgar Taylor, in German Popular Stories
* "Puddocky" (1902), translated anonymously, in The Green Fairy Book
* "Cherry the Frog-Bride" (1912), translated by Edgar Taylor and Marian Edwardes, in Grimm's Household Tales
# Pueblo of Acoma v. Padilla

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
490 U.S. 1029
Pueblo of Acoma v. Padilla
No. 88-415
On petition for writ of certiorari to the Supreme Court of New Mexico.
The petition for a writ of certiorari is denied.
Justice WHITE, dissenting.

## 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
# Pueblo of Santa Rosa v. Fall

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
273 U.S. 315
Pueblo of Santa Rosa v. Fall
Argued: Jan. 11, 1927. --- Decided: Feb 21, 1927
Messrs. W. C. Reid, of Albuquerque, N. M., H. P. Hibbard and Louis Kleindienst, both of Los Angeles, Cal., and Levi H. David, of Washington, D. C., for petitioner.
The Attorney General and Mr. Solicitor General Mitchell, of Washington, D. C., for respondents.
Mr. Justice SUTHERLAND 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
# Pueblo Indians

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Pueblo Indians."
* 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.
* "Pueblo Indians," in The American Cyclopædia (1879)
* "Pueblo Indians," in Encyclopædia Britannica (11th ed., 1911)
* "Pueblo (Indians)," in The New International Encyclopædia, New York: Dodd, Mead and Co. (1905)
* "Pueblos," in The New Student's Reference Work, Chicago: F.E. Compton and Co. (1914)
# Pueblo of Zia v. United States

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
168 U.S. 198
Pueblo of Zia v. United States
This was a petition by the pueblos of Zia, Santa Ana, and Jemez for the confirmation of what is known as the 'Ojo del Espiritu Santo Grant,' containing about 382,849 acres.
The testimonio, or official copy of the proceedings, opens with the following petition to the governor and captain general, presented in 1766, by Felipe Tafoya, as the agent of these pueblos:
'His excellency the governor and captaingeneral: I, Felipe Tafoya, lawyer of this town of Santa F e, appear before your excellency, in full legal form, for and in the name of Cristoval, Indian governor of the pueblo of Zia, and Thomas, chief war captain of said pueblo, who come under appointment from their casique, and of the other inhabitants of their republic, and, sir, in the name of the aforenamed, and of the community of the pueblos of Santa Ana and of Jemez, do state that they, from their foundation, have considered as their pasture ground, in the vicinity of their said pueblos, a valley commonly called the 'Holy Ghost Spring,' and that in some urgent cases the same, as is known, is used as a pasture ground for the horses of this royal garrison, and the said parties being aware that the said valley has had, in its vicinity, some applicants to acquire the same by grant, which will cause them very great injury, as they have considerable cattle, sheep, goats, and horses for the royal service, and not having any other place in which to pasture them, particularly the people of the pueblo of Zia, the greater part of whose fields are upland, and some of them in the glens of said valley, adjoining their said pueblo. In consideration of all of which, I ask and pray that your excellency, in the name of his majesty (whom may God preserve), be pleased to declare said valley to be the legitimate pasture grounds and pastures of the pueblos, directing that the boundaries thereof be designated to them,-that is, on the east, the pueblos aforesaid; on the west, the summits of the Puerco river; on the north, a place called the 'Ventana,' where some Navajo Apaches reside; and on the south, the lands of the citizen settlers of said Puerco river. And, should your excellency order to be done as I have requested, the said parties, my clients, will receive grace with the justice which I ask, and declare in their name that this is not in dissimulation, and so forth.

## 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
# Puella Mea

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
Published in The Dial, January 1921.
# River Song

"Ply the oars! away! away!"
* "Ply the oars! away! away!" in A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers (1849)
* "River Song" in Poems of Nature (1895)
# Rivers to the Sea (Collection)

RIVERS TO THE SEA
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY new york • boston • chicago • dallas atlanta • san francisco
MACMILLAN & CO., Limited london • bombay • calcutta melbourne
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. toronto
RIVERS TO THE SEA
BY
SARA TEASDALE
New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1915 All rights reserved
Copyright, 1915, By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published, October, 1915.
Norwood Press J. S. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
To
ERNST
"Du bist die Ruh, du bist der Frieden, Du bist der Himmel, mir beschieden."
Thanks are due to the editors of Harper's, Century, Scribner's, Poetry, and other periodicals, for their courteous permission to reprint many of the following poems.
CONTENTS
PART I :
PART III :
PART IV :
PART V :
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 1933, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 90 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
# Rhymes of a Red-Cross Man/The Fool

The Fool
# Rhymes of a Red-Cross Man/Pilgrims
### Pilgrims

For oh, when the war will be over  We'll go and we'll look for our dead; We'll go when the bee's on the clover,  And the plume of the poppy is red: We'll go when the year's at its gayest,  When meadows are laughing with flow'rs; And there where the crosses are greyest,  We'll seek for the cross that is ours.
For they cry to us: Friends, we are lonely,  A-weary the night and the day; But come in the blossom-time only,  Come when our graves will be gay: When daffodils all are a-blowing,  And larks are a-thrilling the skies, Oh, come with the hearts of you glowing,  And the joy of the Spring in your eyes.
But never, oh, never come sighing,  For ours was the Splendid Release; And oh, but 'twas joy in the dying  To know we were winning you Peace! So come when the valleys are sheening,  And fledged with the promise of grain; And here where our graves will be greening,  Just smile and be happy again.
And so, when the war will be over,  We'll seek for the Wonderful One; And maiden will look for her lover,  And mother will look for her son; And there will be end to our grieving,  And gladness will gleam over loss, As — glory beyond all believing!  We point . . . to a name on a cross.
# Rhymes of a Red-Cross Man/Our Hero
### Our Hero

"Flowers, only flowers — bring me dainty posies,  Blossoms for forgetfulness," that was all he said; So we sacked our gardens, violets and roses,  Lilies white and bluebells laid we on his bed. Soft his pale hands touched them, tenderly caressing;  Soft into his tired eyes came a little light; Such a wistful love-look, gentle as a blessing;  There amid the flowers waited he the night.
"I would have you raise me; I can see the West then:  I would see the sun set once before I go." So he lay a-gazing, seemed to be at rest then,  Quiet as a spirit in the golden glow. So he lay a-watching rosy castles crumbling,  Moats of blinding amber, bastions of flame, Rugged rifts of opal, crimson turrets tumbling;  So he lay a-dreaming till the shadows came.
"Open wide the window; there's a lark a-singing;  There's a glad lark singing in the evening sky. How it's wild with rapture, radiantly winging:  Oh it's good to hear that when one has to die. I am horror-haunted from the hell they found me;  I am battle-broken, all I want is rest. Ah! It's good to die so, blossoms all around me,  And a kind lark singing in the golden West.
"Flowers, song and sunshine, just one thing is wanting,  Just the happy laughter of a little child." So we brought our dearest, Doris all-enchanting;  Tenderly he kissed her; radiant he smiled. "In the golden peace-time you will tell the story  How for you and yours, sweet, bitter deaths were ours. . . . God bless little children!" So he passed to glory,  So we left him sleeping, still amid the flow'rs.
# Rhymes of a Red-Cross Man/The Call
### The Call

(France, August first, 1914)