OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# To My Cicerone

Source, including CC-BY-SA license:
My Cicerone, on this monument A name protrudes obscured by time and gloam,5 Engraved by a man to mark his stay in Rome. I must needs know that traveler’s intent.
Perhaps he will be welcomed at the inns By joyful cries, perhaps the speechless sand Will hide his acts of kindness and the sins Which we shall never know nor understand.
I have to know what then he felt and thought When in this stony book of Italy, Instead of a phrase his name he merely wrought, Of all his life the only trace to be.
Did he with a trembling hand engrave it here, As if a tombstone in a steadfast rock, Or rashly cut the words upon this block As if a sad and lonely good-bye tear?
My Cicerone! Childish is thy face, But ancient wisdom o’er thy forehead shines, Through Roman gates I followed thee apace, Thou wast my guarding angel in the shrines.
Oh, Thou canst even look through a heart of stone, When thou but glancest at its stubborn shell, From a single word the past to thee is known, Perhaps thou know’st the pilgrim’s fate to tell.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# To My Book

Used as a preface to Osgood's collection A Wreath of Flowers from New England.
Farewell! my fragile, flower-filled book!  I fling thee on the stream of Time, With faltering hand and fearful soul,--  As in the Orient's sunny clime, The maiden trims her fragrant lamp,  A tiny, faint, but Love-fed spark, And trembling gives to doubtful waves,  Illumed and wreathed, her fairy bark.
My simple flowers! a heaven of Love  Was o'er ye when ye budded first, And Love pronounced the blossoms fair,  His own fond smiles and tears had nursed.
Alas! the garland's light will die Beneath a colder critic's eye! His soft wings fanned ye into bloom;  How will ye bear a ruder breath? Ah! wintry-wind and tempest-gloom  Will chill your light leaves unto death!
Farwell, my bark! yet once again,  I would my wish might guide thee still, To clear the pirate-critic's den,  Who'd blight thy tender freight at will. The syren, Fame, in vain should sing,  Thou'dst shun Distinction's lofty sea, And only pause at friendly ports,  Where partial eyes will look for thee. There Love, turned pilot for they sake, Thy humble helm would proudly take; And anchor thee secure from storm, In some true heart, with welcome, warm.
Yet vain the hope--the fear--perchance;  For many a vessel bold and brave, With richer freight and fairer sail,  And prow that proudlier cuts the wave, Is on the stream; and 'mid them all,--  The strong, the lofty, swift and free, With current coin for merchandize,--  Who Love's light gondola will see? Or, if beheld,--the critic stern  May scorn, for prize of richer cost, The smaller craft;--how soon wilt thou  In cold oblivion's wave be lost!
Yet fare thee well!--It was not Pride,  That sheeted home thy fluttering sails, That launched thee on th' o'erburdened tide,  And gave thy prow to wayward gales: A wreath of wild flowers all thy freight!--  The tide at ebb!--a scanty crew!-- The wind against thee!--ah! too late,  This daring venture I may rue! It was not Pride,--but what it was,  That Pride itself forbids I tell; Fate! with the plaything work thy will,  'Tis thine!--my simple book, farewell!
# To Mrs. —

I have not found the meaning out
* "To Mrs. ——" in The New Penelope (1877)
* "To Mrs. ——" in Poems (1900)
# To Music

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "To Music."
* 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.
* "To Music" by Robert Herrick
* "To Music. A Song" by Robert Herrick
# To My Antenor

My dear Antenor now give o're, For my sake talk of Graves no more; Death is not in our power to gain, And is both wish'd and fear'd in vain Let's be as angry as wee will, Grief sooner may distract then kill, And the unhappy often prove Death is as coy a thing as Love. Those whose own sword their death did give, Afraid were or asham'd to Live; And by an act so desperate, Did poorly run away from fate; 'Tis braver much t'out-ride the storm, Endure its rages and shun his harm; Affliction nobly undergone, More Greatness shews than having none. But yet the Wheel in turning round, At last may lift us from the ground, And when our Fortune's most severe, The less we have, the less we fear. And why should we that grief permit, Which can nor mend nor shorten it? Let's wait for a succeeding good, Woes have their Ebb as well as flood: And since Parliament have rescu'd you, Believe that Providence will do so too.
# To My Brother (Pearse)

To My Brother", poem by P. H. Pearse, written in Arbour Hill Detention Barracks, 1st May, 1916. Published by The Office of Public Works, Dublin.
Pearse did not know that his brother William, was also to be executed.
O faithful! Moulded in one womb, We have stood together all the years, All the glad years and all the sorrowful years, Own brothers: through good repute and ill, In direst peril true to me, Leaving all things for me, spending yourself In the hard service that I taught to you, Of all the men that I have known on earth, You only have been my familiar friend, Nor needed I another.
# To My Brother

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "To My Brother."
* 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.
* "To My Brother", a poem by Felicia Dorothea Browne
* "To My Brother", a poem by Miles Jeffery Game Day
* "To My Brother", a poem by Patrick Pearse
* "To My Brother", a poem by Eliza Jane Stephens
* "To My Brother", a poem by Henry David Thoreau
# To My Candle (Wolcot)

Thou lone companion of the spectred night! I wake amid thy friendly watchful light, To steal a precious hour from lifeless sleep. Hark, the wild uproar of the winds! and hark! Hell's genius roams the regions of the dark, And swells the thundering horrors of the deep!
From cloud to cloud the pale moon hurrying flies, Now blacken'd, and now flashing through the skies; But all is silence here beneath thy beam. I own I labor for the voice of praise— For who would sink in dull oblivion's stream? Who would not live in songs of distant days?
How slender now, alas! thy thread of fire! Ah! falling—falling—ready to expire! In vain thy struggles; all will soon be o'er. At life thou snatchest with an eager leap; Now round I see thy flame so feeble creep, Faint, lessening, quivering, glimmering, now no more! Thus shall the sons of science sink away, And thus of beauty fade the fairest flower— For where's the giant who to Time shall say, "Destructive tyrant, I arrest thy power!"
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Shaw, George Bernard

​SHAW, George Bernard; b. Dublin, 26th July, 1856; m. 1898, Charlotte Frances Payne-Townshend, London, 1876; Fabian Society, 1884. Pubns.: Novels—The Irrational Knot, Love among the Artists, Cashel Byron's Profession, An Unsocial Socialist, 1880-83; edited Fabian Essays, 1889; Fabianism and The Empire, 1900; and Fabianism and the Fiscal Question, 1904; various tracts on Socialism published by the Fabian Society; The Quintessence of Ibsenism, 1891 and 1913; The Sanity of Art, 1895; The Perfect Wagnerite, 1898; The Common Sense of Municipal Trading, 1904; Socialism and Superior Brains, 1910; a Preface to three plays by Brieux, 1911; Common Sense about the War, 1914; How to Settle the Irish Question, 1917; Peace Conference Hints, 1919; weekly articles on Music in the Star (signed "Corno di Bassetto"), 1888-1890; and in The World, 1890-91; on the Theatre in the Saturday Review, January, 1895, to May, 1898 (collected 1907 in 2 vols., entitled Dramatic Opinions and essays); Plays, Pleasant and Unpleasant (seven plays). 1898; Three Plays for Puritans, 1900: The Admirable Baslivile, 1901; Man and Superman, 190-3; John Bull's Other Island, 1904; Row He Lied to her Husband, 1904; Major Barbara, 1905; The Doctor's Dilemma, 1906; Getting Married, 1908; The She wing-up of Blanco Posnet, 1909; Press Cuttings, 1909; The Dark lady of The Sonnets, 1910; Misalliance, 1910; Fanny's First Play, 1911; Androcles and the Lion, Pvsmalion. and Overruled, 1912; Great Catherine, 1913; The Music Cure, 1914; O'Flaherty V.C, The Inca of Perusalem, 1915; Augustus does His Bit, 1916; Heartbreak House, Annajanska, 1917; Back to Methusaleh (cycle of five plays), 1921. Exercise: motor driving and cycling, swimming, public speaking. Diet: vegetarian. Recn.: anything except sport. Res.: 10 Adelphi Terrace, London, ​W.C.2. Clubs: Royal Automobile. Burlington Fine Arts. Trade Union: Society of Authors, Playwrights and Composers.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Shaw, Sir Alexander W.

Alexander William Shaw
​SHAW, Sir Alexander W., Knt. (1906), J.P. Limerick City; High Sheriff Limerick County, 1898-1899; son of the late Wiliam John Shaw, of Willowbank, Limerick; b. Oct. 27th, 1847; m. August 16th, 1876, Eleanor R., youngest dau. of the late William Gough Gubbins, of Castle Troy, Limerick. Res.: Derravoher, Limerick. Club: Limerick County.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Sheedy, Morgan M.

Morgan Madden Sheedy
​SHEEDY, Morgan M., clergyman; b. in Ireland, Oct. 8th, 1853; s. Michael and Mary (Madden) S. Ordained R.C. priest, 1876; permanent rector, St. John's Church, Altoona, Pa., since Dec, 1891. First pres. and ex-treas. Catholic Summer Sch. (dir. Reading Circle Union); V.P. Catholic Total Abstinence Union of America 4 years. Editor and pub. The Church Quarterly and Altoona Monthly. Popular lecturer. Author, Christian Unity, 1895; Social Problems, 1896; Briefs for Our Times, 1906; etc. Also a frequent contributor to magazines. Home: Altoona, Pa.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Sheehan, Daniel Desmond

​SHEEHAN, Daniel Desmond, Barrister, King's Inns 1910. Educ.: National Schools and privately; was for two years acting editor of Catholic News, Preston, and subsequently for five years editor of Cork County Southern Star; takes an active part in the Irish Labour and National Movement; Hon. Sec. Central Executive All-for-Ireland League; President Irish Land and Labour Association; M.P. for Mid- Cork 1901-06; was expelled the Irish Party because of his advocacy of the policy of Conciliation as applied to Irish politics: resigned his seat; re-elected 1907 and represented the constituency till 1918. Temp. Capt. 9th Batt. Roy. Munster Fus. with the British Expeditionary Force in France, 1915-16. Pubn.: Ireland since Parnell; b. 1874; m. 1894, Mary, dau. of late Martin O'Connor, Bridge Street, Tralee, and has issue five sons and four daus. Res.: Rockhurst, Victoria Road, Cork.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Shaw, Col. Sir Frederick William

​SHAW, Col. Sir Frederick William, Bart., D.S.O. Educ. at Harrow and Oriel College, Oxford; J.P., D.L.. Co. Dublin; High Sheriff (1907), formerly Lieut. 1st Dragoons; Comd. 2nd Gar. Batt., Roy. Irish Regt., 1916-18; Comd. 8th Service Batt. R.D. Fus., 1914-16; in 5th Roy. Dub. Fus., 1888-1913, commanded 1907-13; son of Sir Robert, 4th Bart., and Kate, dau. of the late Wm. Barton, of Grove, Co. Tipperary; b. 15th Mar., 1858; s. his father 16th May, 1895; m. 9th July, 1885, Eleanor, dau. of late Major Horace de Vere, R.E., and has issue two sons and four daus. Res.: Bushy Park, Terenure, Co. Dublin; Kildare Street Club, Dublin.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Shaw, Kathleen Trousdell

​SHAW, Kathleen Trousdell, R.H.A., Sculptor. Educated Dublin, Paris, Home. London. Works: portraits of the late Earl Egerton of Tatton, the Duchess of Buckingham and Chandos, Lord Avebury, Cardinal Logue, Archbishop of Armagh, Primate of Ireland, Countess Annesley, and many others; also ideal figures of Mowgli, A Nymph, Myron, and a public memorial to the officers and men of the Royal Irish Fusiliers who fell in the South African War, at Armagh, Ireland; has exhibited many works in the Royal Academy and in the Paris Salon; Hon. Royal Hibernian Academician; the only woman sculptor who is a member of an academy in Great Britain; dau. of late Dr. A. Shaw, of Carlow. Res.: 30 Belsize Park Gardens. London, N.W.; Eton Studio, King's College Road, Eton Avenue, London, N.W. Club: Albemarle.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Shaw, Joseph

​SHAW, Joseph, M.A. (Cantab.), Barrister, Inner Temple 1887; K.C. 1910; J.P. for Herefordshire; Chairman, Powell Dutfryn Steam Coal Co., Ltd. Son of late Joseph Shaw, of Celbridge. co. Kildare; b. 1856; m. 1885, Charlotte (d. 1897), eldest dau. of late Sir Philip C Smyly, Knt., M.D., of Dublin, and Hon. Selina, sixth dau. of 3rd Baron Plunket. Res.: 36 Bryanston Square, London, W.1.; Kentchurch Court, Hereford.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Shandon, Baron

Ignatius John O'Brien
​SHANDON, Baron (Unit. Kgd., 1918), and a Baronet (Unit. Kgd., 1916), Ignatius John O'Brien, 1st Baron, P.C. (Irld., 1912); Lord Chancellor of Ireland, 1911-18; Att.-Gen., 1912-13; Sol.-Gen., 1911-12; second Serjt.-at-Law, 1910; Barrister King's Inn, 1881; K.C., 1899; Bencher, 1907. Recn.: Music; b. 1857; youngest son of Mark Joseph O'Brien, of Cork; m. 1886, Annie, dau. of John Talbot Scallan, Solicitor, of Dublin. Res.: The Dene, St. Lawrence, Isle of Wight: 51a Holland Park, London; National Liberal Club, London, S.W., and Dublin University Club, Dublin.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Sharman-Crawford, Col. The Right Hon. Robert Gordon

​SHARMAN-CRAWFORD, Col. The Right Hon. Robert Gordon, P.C. (1919) C.B.E. (1919), M.A. (Dub. Univ.): is a D.L., J.P. Co. Down; Col. (ret.) 3rd Batt. R.I. Rifles; Comd. 18th Batt. Roy. Irish Rifles during the War; M.P. for E. Belfast, 1914-18; M.P. for Mid-Down, Northern Parliament, Ireland, 1921; Member of Senate of Northern Ireland, 1921; eldest surviving son of Arthur Sharman-Crawford, of Crawfordsburn and Rademon; b. 1853; m. 1882, Helen, edest dau. of Ernest Arbouin, of Beckworth, Lindfield, Sussex, and has issue one dau. Res.: Crawfordsburn, Belfast; Rademon House, Crossgar, Co. Down. Clubs: Ulster (Belfast); Carlton, (London).
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Sharkey, Sir Seymour John

​SHARKEY, Sir Seymour John, Knt. (1914), M.A., M.D. (Oxon.), F.R.C.P., Lond.; Consulting Physician at St. Thomas's Hospital and King George V. Hospital, London; Medical Referee to the Treasury; Ex-President of Neurological Society; late Examiner in Pathology and Medicine, Oxford University; third son of late Edmund P. Sharkey, M.D., of Ballinasloe, Ireland; b 1847. Res.: 24A Portland Pace, London, W.1.
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/Sorrow

SORROW
My Sorrow, O my Sorrow, when first you came to rest
Crouched huddling on my hearthstone, I held you to
 my breast
And cuddled and caressed you, and rocked you o'er
 and o'er— My Sorrow like a baby that creeps upon the floor!
I showed you to my neighbours, I made you rhymes to sing,
For I was proud to own you, the delicate small thing;
And so I nursed you always, till you are grown to-day,
My Sorrow, like a tiger tense-crouching for his prey.
Yea, silently and swiftly, my Sorrow, you have grown
Till you are waxed so dreadful I dare not be alone— Alone I dare not face you, lest I be slain outright— I pray you, monster Sorrow, to sheathe your claws
 to-night!
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/Summer is icumen in

"SUMER IS ICUMEN IN"
The beautiful old simple songs
 That make us laugh and cry,
That sing of dying loveliness
 In words that cannot die:
Of how the singer's love was sweet
 Or how she was unkind,
And how her lips were red that now
 Are dust upon the wind:   Of how the fields were gold in May
 With daffodils a-row,
And all the birds made holiday
 Six hundred years ago:—
These, when the beauty of the spring
 Clad in this alien dress
Turns like a sharp sword in our hearts
 For utter loveliness,
And joy and sorrow intermixed
 Run tingling through our veins— These bring more peace and comfort still
 Than newer, subtler strains.
Oh, quarrion for missel-thrush
 And rosewood bloom for may!
The things the nameless singer saw
 Are what we see to-day.
The grass is just as green to-day,
 The distant hill as blue,
The birds are just as glad as then,
 The lovers just as true;
And Alisoun is dead long syne
 With him that called her fair,
But love is just as sweet and fresh
 When spring is in the air;
And though I must perforce be dumb
 Who have no skill to sing,
I am as deep in love, in love,
 As is the year in spring!
Australia.
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/The Closed Door

THE CLOSED DOOR
As we crossed Alcántara With the Tagus falling, I was 'ware there came a voice At my shoulder calling. As we climbed the steep red path Red as smouldering ember— "You, you know this well," it said, "Do you not remember?"
Up the narrow cobbled streets Still it followed after, Whispering deeds that we had shared With a fierce low laughter. "Here you stabbed him and he fell With his sword a-clatter—
Life for life—you paid your debt— That was no great matter."
Through the Gate that Wamba built Still the voice pursuing Softly called, "We know it all, All that you are doing. Every stone you're treading now You have known aforetime, You have seen these grim red walls In the stress of wartime.
"You remember? Down this lane You would often swagger With your comrades of the mask, Cloak and sword and dagger. At that window high she stood, Some dear dead Dolores… You've forgotten—and so soon?
—There are other stories…."
By the white Church of the Kings, By the proud red towers, Thronging round about me came Ghosts of long-dead hours; Ghosts of many a blazing June, Many a keen December— "Thus and thus and thus we did. Do you not remember?"
Toledo, Span.
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/The Coorong Sandhills

THE COORONG SANDHILLS
(South Australia)
Over the Coorong sandhills only the wild duck fly, Naught is there but the knot-grass rank, and the sea, and the sky; Redder than cooling lava, slow heave the hills to the blue, Splendid, dazzling, and stainless, of sky and of ocean too.
South to the frozen mountains faces the last red hill, Only the sea between them; almost as lone and still Shows the sand as the ice-peaks, but it has heat and light, Set against the aurora that shatters the polar night.
If the sands have a language, healing it is and kind, Clean and strong like the sea-roar or the glad shout of the wind;
If you but face them bravely, lost in a barren land, Never will they betray you, the sky and the sea and sand.
Blue burns the sky above me, red the sand at my feet, Near and far on the sandhills shimmers the living heat; Hill after hill I conquer, changing yet still the same, Still flows the sand together and covers the way I came.
Stretched in a warm sand-hollow late in the afternoon Watch I the wild duck flying back to the long lagoon; Black on an amber sunset passes the last of the flight— Over the Coorong sandhills quiver the pinions of night.
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/Settlers

SETTLERS
If the gods of Hellas do not tread our shaggy mountains,
Stately, white-and-golden, with unfathomable eyes, Yet the lesser spirits haunt our forests and our fountains, Seas and green-brown river-pools no thirsty summer dries.
Never through the tangled scrub we see Diana glisten, Silver-limbed and crescent-crowned and swift to hear and turn,
When the chase is hottest and the woods are waked to listen,
While her maidens follow running knee-deep in the fern.
Of the great gods only Pan walks hourly here—Pan only,
In the warm dark gullies, in the thin clear upland air,
On the windy sea-cliffs and the plains apart and lonely, By the tingling silence you may know that he is there.
But the sea-nymphs make our shores shine gay with light and laughter, At the sunset when the waves are mingled milk and fire You may see them very plain, and in the darkness after You may hear them singing with the stars' great golden choir.
When the earth is mad with song some blue September morning, In the grove of myall trees that rustle green and grey, Through the plumes of trailing leaves hung meet for her adorning, See a dark-browed Dryad peep and swiftly draw away.
In the deep-cut river beds set thick with moss-grown boulders Where the wagtails come to drink and balance lest they fall,
You may see the gleaming of a Naiad's slippery shoulders, And the water sliding cool and quiet over all.
Through the narrow gorges where the flying-foxes muster, Hanging from the kurrajongs like monstrous magic grapes, Something spreads a sudden fear that breaks each heavy cluster— See the furry prick-eared faun that chuckles and escapes!
Marble-smooth and marble-pale the blue gums guard the clearing Where the winter fern is gold among the silver grass, And the shy bush creatures watching bright-eyed and unfearing See the slender Oreads while we unheeding pass.
Wreathed with starry clematis these tread the grassy spaces When the moon sails up beyond the highest screening tree, All the forest dances, and the furthest hidden places Are astir with beauty—but we may not often see.
When came they to harbour here, the shy folk peering, flying? Long before our coast showed blue to Poncé de León Pan beheld a vision of an empty kingdom lying Waiting—and he led them past the seas to claim his own.
Australia.
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/The Colours of Light

THE COLOURS OF LIGHT
This is not easy to understand
For you that come from a distant land
Where all the colours are low in pitch— Deep purples, emeralds deep and rich,
Where autumn's flaming and summer's green— Here is a beauty you have not seen.
All is pitched in a higher key,
Lilac, topaz, and ivory,
Palest jade-green and pale clear blue
Like aquamarines that the sun shines through,
Golds and silvers, we have at will— Silver and gold on each plain and hill,
Silver-green of the myall leaves,
Tawny gold of the garnered sheaves,
Silver rivers that silent slide,
Golden sands by the water-side,
Golden wattle, and golden broom,
Silver stars of the rosewood bloom;
Amber sunshine, and smoke-blue shade:
Opal colours that glow and fade;
On the gold of the upland grass
Blue cloud-shadows that swiftly pass;
Wood-smoke blown in an azure mist;
Hills of tenuous amethyst….
Oft the colours are pitched so high
The deepest note is the cobalt sky;
We have to wait till the sunset comes
For shades that feel like the beat of drums
Or like organ notes in their rise and fall— Purple and orange and cardinal,
Or the peacock-green that turns soft and slow
To peacock-blue as the great stars show….
Sugar-gum boles flushed to peach-blow pink;
Blue-gums, tall at the clearing's brink;
Ivory pillars, their smooth fine slope
Dappled with delicate heliotrope;
Grey of the twisted mulga-roots;
Golden-bronze of the budding shoots;
Tints of the lichens that cling and spread,
Nile-green, primrose, and palest red….
Sheen of the bronze-wing; blue of the crane;
Fawn and pearl of the lyrebird's train;
Cream of the plover; grey of the dove—
These are the hues of the land I love.
Australia.
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/Swallows

SWALLOWS
What tells the swallows that a house is in the making, Far away from any town, among the whispering leaves? Saying, "Good news, a home! Fly there when spring is waking, There'll be room for many nests beneath those shady eaves."
With the first springtime come the swallows without number, Chattering in the greying dawn, and like a flying cloud Sweeping round the roof at dusk before they sink to slumber— How did they scent the new-built home from out the city's crowd?
Was it a wild bush-bird that brought the message townwards? No, she would not leave the lonely gully where she sings. Maybe the swans' black vanguard told it, crying downwards, Or vagrant winds blew past and caught its new smoke on their wings.
Whoso the message brought, they knew, O do not doubt it, Swift they flew by plain and ridge, like arrows straight and sure Aimed for the home, to build their little homes about it, That shall stand while stands the roof and while the walls endure.
Australia.