OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# On the Magnet/II-23

CHAP. XXIII.
Magnetick Force causes motion towards unity, and binds firmly together bodies which are united.
agnetick fragments cohære within their strength well and harmoniously together. Pieces of iron in the presence of a loadstone (even if they are not * touching the loadstone) run together, seek one another anxiously and embrace one another, and when joined are as if they were cemented. Iron * filings or the same reduced to powder inserted in paper tubes, placed upon a stone meridionally or merely brought rather close to it, coalesce into one body, and so many parts suddenly are concreted * and combine; and the whole company of corpuscles thus conspiring together affects another piece of iron and attracts it, as if it constituted one integral rod of iron; and above the stone it is directed toward the North and South. *But when they are removed a long ​way from the stone, the particles (as if loosed again) are separated and move apart singly. In this way also the foundations of the world are connected and joined and cemented together magnetically. So let Ptolemy of Alexandria, and his followers, and those philosophers of ours, be the less terrified if the earth do move round in a circle, nor threaten its dissolution.
*Iron filings, after being heated for a long time, are attracted by a loadstone, yet not so strongly or from so great a distance as when not heated. A loadstone loses some of its virtue by too great a heat;* for its humour is set free, whence its peculiar nature is marred. Likewise also, if iron filings are well burnt in a reverberatory furnace and converted into saffron of Mars,* they are not attracted by a loadstone; but if they are heated, but not thoroughly burnt, they do stick to a magnet, but less strongly than the filings themselves not acted upon by fire. For the saffron has become totally deformate, but the heated metal acquires a defect from the fire, and the forces in the enfeebled body are less excited by a loadstone; and, the nature of the iron being now ruined, it is not attracted by a loadstone.
# Poems (Barbara White)/Just What I Would Have Done

My boy, his words and my answer.
# Poems (Barbara White)/From Berlin to Berlin, I'm On My Way

Taken from a paragraph in Grit, front page.
# Poems (Barbara White)/It's a Long Way to Bonnie Scotland

(A Scotchman's impression of America before he comes here and how he gets fooled after he lands.)
# Poems (Barbara White)/As I'm Thinking Dear Old Scotland of You

Repeat from*
# Poems (Barbara White)/For Victory We Stand

Theme taken from President Wilson's speech.
# Poems (Barbara White)/America's Glory

Tune—"All the Blue Bonnets Are Over the Border.
# Poems (Bradford)

POEMS
By Bernice Margaret Bradford
1918:
Saulsbury Publishing Company
Baltimore, Md.
Copyright, 1918, by Bernice Margaret Bradford.
* The trail of the yellowstone
* The end of the trail
* The bluebird
* Knock on wood
* Bear lake, the beautiful
* In michigan
* Birds in summer
* A thought of you
* The voice of spring
* Weary for the sight of you
* Day
* The wind in the pines
* My lake
* Blackberry blooms
* Oh to be in michigan
* My heart's in the northland
* O blue sky of montana
* With radiant grief too deep for tears
* In arcady
* Just to see my love again
* The rain call of the robin
* To ann arbor
* Trailing arbutus
* Where the manistee is flowing
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
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
# Poems (Hoffman)/The Requiem of the Dove

"Tall mariposa tulips smile, among the reeds and rushes"
# Pamphlets (Tolstoy)/Some Social Remedies/Three Methods of Reform

Three Methods of Reform
(From the Private MS. Diary)
There are three means of alleviating the condition of the labourers and of setting up brotherhood among men.
1. Not to make people work for you; neither directly nor indirectly to demand work of them; not to need such articles as demand extra labour,—all objects of luxury.
2. To do for oneself and, if possible, for others also that work which is tedious and unpleasant.
3. Not in reality a means, but the result and application of the second, to study the laws of nature and invent processes for the alleviation of labour—machinery, steam, electricity. One will invent what is really needed, and nothing superfluous, only when one invents in order to lighten ​one's own labour, or at least labour which one has oneself experienced.
But at present men are engaged in applying only the third means, and even that incorrectly, for they keep aloof from the second, and not only are they unwilling to employ the first and second means, but they do not wish even to hear of them.
There can be only one permanent revolution—a moral one; the regeneration of the inner man.
How is this revolution to take place? Nobody knows how it will take place in humanity, but every man feels it clearly in himself. And yet in our world everybody thinks of changing humanity, and nobody thinks of changing himself.
People abolished slavery and the right of owning slaves, but they continued changing their linen unnecessarily, and living in ten rooms and having five courses at dinner, and carriages, etc. And yet all these things could not be if there were no slaves. This is perfectly clear, and yet nobody can see it.
# Pamphlets (Tolstoy)/Some Social Remedies

SOME SOCIAL
REMEDIES
SOCIALISM, ANARCHY,
HENRY GEORGISM AND
THE LAND QUESTION,
COMMUNISM, Etc.
COLLECTED FROM THE RECENT AND UNPUBLISHED WRITINGS OF
LEO
TOLSTOY
(NO RIGHTS RESERVED)
THE FREE AGE PRESS
CHRISTCHURCH, HANTS (New Address)
1900
* On Socialism, State and Christian
* On Anarchy
* Three Methods of Reform
* Two Letters on Henry George and the Land Question
* On Communal Life
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Peter's Field

PETER'S FIELD
[Knows he who tills this lonely field To reap its scanty corn, What mystic fruit his acres yield At midnight and at morn?]
That field by spirits bad and good, By Hell and Heaven is haunted, And every rood in the hemlock wood I know is ground enchanted.
[In the long sunny afternoon The plain was full of ghosts: I wandered up, I wandered down, Beset by pensive hosts.]
For in those lonely grounds the sun Shines not as on the town, In nearer arcs his journeys run, And nearer stoops the moon.
There in a moment I have seen The buried Past arise; The fields of Thessaly grew green, Old gods forsook the skies.
​I cannot publish in my rhyme What pranks the greenwood played; It was the Carnival of time, And Ages went or stayed.
To me that spectral nook appeared The mustering Day of Doom, And round me swarmed in shadowy troop Things past and things to come.
The darkness haunteth me elsewhere; There I am full of light; In every whispering leaf I hear More sense than sages write.
Underwoods were full of pleasance, All to each in kindness bend, And every flower made obeisance As a man unto his friend.
Far seen, the river glides below, Tossing one sparkle to the eyes: I catch thy meaning, wizard wave; The River of my Life replies.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Prayer

PRAYER
When success exalts thy lot, God for thy virtue lays a plot: And all thy life is for thy own, Then for mankind's instruction shown; And though thy knees were never bent, To Heaven thy hourly prayers are sent, And whether formed for good or ill, Are registered and answered still.
1826 [?].
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Riches

RICHES
Have ye seen the caterpillar Foully warking in his nest? 'T is the poor man getting siller, Without cleanness, without rest.
Have ye seen the butterfly In braw claithing drest? 'T is the poor man gotten rich, In rings and painted vest.
The poor man crawls in web of rags And sore bested with woes. But when he flees on riches' wings, He laugheth at his foes.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Promise

PROMISE
In countless upward-striving waves The moon-drawn tide-wave strives; In thousand far-transplanted grafts The parent fruit survives; So, in the new-born millions, The perfect Adam lives. ​Not less are summer mornings dear To every child they wake, And each with novel life his sphere Fills for his proper sake.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Philosopher

PHILOSOPHER
Philosophers are lined with eyes within, And, being so, the sage unmakes the man. In love, he cannot therefore cease his trade; Scarce the first blush has overspread his cheek, He feels it, introverts his learned eye To catch the unconscious heart in the very act. ​His mother died,—the only friend he had,— Some tears escaped, but his philosophy Couched like a cat sat watching close behind And throttled all his passion. Is 't not like That devil-spider that devours her mate Scarce freed from her embraces?
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Pan

PAN
O what are heroes, prophets, men, But pipes through which the breath of Pan doth blow A momentary music. Being's tide Swells hitherward, and myriads of forms Live, robed with beauty, painted by the sun; Their dust, pervaded by the nerves of God, Throbs with an overmastering energy Knowing and doing. Ebbs the tide, they lie White hollow shells upon the desert shore, But not the less the eternal wave rolls on To animate new millions, and exhale Races and planets, its enchanted foam.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Politics

POLITICS
Gold and iron are good To buy iron and gold; All earth's fleece and food For their like are sold. Boded Merlin wise, Proved Napoleon great, Nor kind nor coinage buys Aught above its rate. Fear, Craft and Avarice Cannot rear a State. Out of dust to build What is more than dust,— Walls Amphion piled Phœbus stablish must. When the Muses nine With the Virtues meet, Find to their design An Atlantic seat, By green orchard boughs Fended from the heat, ​Where the statesman ploughs Furrow for the wheat,— When the Church is social worth, When the state-house is the hearth, Then the perfect State is come, The republican at home.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Power

POWER
His tongue was framed to music, And his hand was armed with skill; His face was the mould of beauty, And his heart the throne of will.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Prudence

PRUDENCE
Theme no poet gladly sung, Fair to old and foul to young; Scorn not thou the love of parts, And the articles of arts. Grandeur of the perfect sphere Thanks the atoms that cohere.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Unconquered

UNCONQUERED
DEEM not, O Pain, that thou shalt vanquish me, Who know each treacherous pang, each last device, Whereby thou barrest the way to Paradise! Inured to suffer constantly Thy joyless fellowship, I gain The lessons only taught by Pain, And know, though broken, that my will Subdues thee still!
Man was not born the slave of things like thee And thy companion, Death: the livelong day He valiant strives, and holds ye still at bay; And when he can no longer see For thickening shadows, faint and spent He bears his standard to his tent And yields ye seeming victory; But—he is free!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Unpardoned

UNPARDONED
"SOME things I never would forgive!" So said you, dear, not knowing That love is dead unless it live All charity bestowing.
O you whose heart love so could brim In cruel need, learn this of him Whose all to you is owing: The one wrong man can not forgive Is the wrong of his own sowing!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Veiled

VEILED
IS the promise of day merely darkness, Is sleep full fruition for strife, Is the grave compensation for sorrow, Is Nirvana the answer to life?
Is there no unobscured revelation The evil of Earth to explain,— No word of compassion to soften The terrible riddle of pain?
In cold, imperturbable silence The planets revolve in their course, And Nature is deaf to entreaty, Untroubled by doubt or remorse;
The snows, far outspread on her mountains, Dissolve, nor her mandate gainsay, And the cloud is consumed at her bidding, And vanisheth quickly away.
And man?—shall he fade like the cloud-wreath, And waste, unresisting, like snow, ​Nor learn of the place whence he journeyed, Nor guess whereunto he must go?
Alas! after nights spent in searching, After days and years, what can he tell,— What imagine of mysteries higher Than heaven, and deeper than hell?
At end of the difficult journey, With restless inquiries so rife, He knows what his spirit discovered At the shadowy threshold of life;
He feels what the tenderness beaming From eyes bending, wistful, above, Revealed to his heart when an infant,— The care, unforgetting, of love!
The hawk toward the south her wings stretcheth, The eagle ascendeth the sky; They know not the guide who conducts them, Yet onward, unerring, they fly:
In the desert the dew falleth gently,— In the desert where no man is; And the herb wisteth not who hath sent it,
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/To Hope

TO HOPE
GIVER and Gift! Immortal one whom all unite to praise: The young, who question not that clouds will lift, Joy treading upon joy through all their days,— The old, who cling the more tenaciously To thy bright promises when most unblest, Living from hour to hour debtors to thee, Even for their dream of rest,—
Persuasive vision, wraithlike, pale! Man's trust adoring ever doth caress Thy insubstantial loveliness; For even although None may thy viewless habitation know, Fondly the heart still follows from afar The soft, alluring radiance of thy star,— The light on earth that is the last to fail!
O wise enchantress who Regret and disappointment dost redeem,— With flattering pledges new ​And brave forecast, Binding the future to atone the past,— Thine are the ministries whereby we live, Inheritors of the Immortal Dream; And though inconstant still thou seem, Baffling and fugitive, For these all thy betrayals we forgive.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Two Brothers

TWO BROTHERS
MY brother's face is turned from me; He sees a thing I must not see,— Alas! what may the vision be?
His form is wasted as with pain; A fever feeds upon his brain Whose fire, extinguished, burns again.
Sometimes he seems to hear a cry,— And the ravens croak on the turrets nigh, And the echoes shudder as they die.
Sometimes a cloud o'er his sight is cast, And something viewless, whirling past, Is borne away on the moaning blast.
And still his face is turned from me, To hide the thing I must not see,— Alas! what may the vision be?
Her lips apart, her blue eyes wide, My mother lay in her state and pride,— The fairest thing that yet had died!
​Like a royal rose,—the story saith,— Peerless and pale, with a rose's breath At her parted lips, she lay in death.
Her braids were held by a jewelled dart,— Her jewelled bodice fell apart, A jewelled dagger pierced her heart.
To find her foe, men strove in vain; Again they sought, and yet again,— But no one mourned with my brother's pain.
For he had loved her from the hour His father won her with that dower Of beauty, rare as an aloe's flower.
And she loved him till our father died; Then something—was it grief or pride?— Made her as marble at his side.
They say—the vassals of our race— She wore thenceforth a wintry grace, Like the frozen scorn on her fair dead face;
And though my brother strove at morn And eve to comfort her, forlorn, She met him still with that cruel scorn.
​O poor, my Mother! Soon, they say, She hid herself with her child away, And looked no longer on the day.
But sometimes, when our towers were white,— Bathed in the moon's celestial light,— Her casement opened on the night
All tremulous with mystery, And, motionless, without a sigh, She stood there, gazing on the sky;
And they who saw her then, declare There was nor pride nor passion there,— Only a tearless, mute despair.
I knew her not,—or if I knew, Forgot her quickly, as children do,— Alas! as little children do.
But when she died, men say that I So plaintive wailed in the chamber nigh, That summoned thither by the cry,
They brought my brother! In that hour, He bore me to this lonely tower— This fortress of our ancient power,
​Where ever near me, night and day,— And happiest with me to stay,— He kept the vexing world away. . . .
But then, he did not seem to see The haunting thing so constantly!— Dear God! what may the riddle be?
Mother! I scarce have grieved for you,— So close to me my brother drew— So gave me all the joys I knew,—
But I am frightened now, and cry, Stretching my arms out to the sky. Without my brother's love, I die!
And though I may not understand Where lies yon far fair Heavenly Land, I think that soon, hand locked in hand,
We two will find you where you dwell— Will see the face he loved so well, And, weeping, all our sorrows tell!
And then,—ah, then, through me beguiled, You'll smile on him,—as once you smiled,— On him—so good to your lonely child!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/To Poverty

TO POVERTY
PALE priestess of a fane discredited, Whose votaries to-day are few or none; Goddess austere, whose touch the vulgar shun, As they would shrink from a Procrustes bed, Hieing to temples where the feast is spread, And life laughs loudly, and the smooth wines run; Wise mother!—least desired 'neath the sun, At thy chill breasts the noblest have been fed.
Great are thy counsels for the brave and strong; Yet do we fear thy brooding mystery, The griefs, the hardships, which about thee throng, The scanty garners where thy harvests be; But seeing what unto the rich belong, We know our debt, O Poverty, to thee!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/To the Victor

TO THE VICTOR
YOU have outstripped me in the race, Your brow shall wear the laurel's grace; But though on-speeding in your might You pass beyond my straining sight, My spirit shall with yours keep pace!
For I have dreamed your dream divine, For I have worshiped at the shrine Whose oracles your faith have moved, For I have loved what you have loved— Your victory is also mine!
Shall the grave gods pronounce their choice And I not lift in praise my voice? Or shall another win the goal Whose vision hath illumed my soul, And I, though distant, not rejoice?
Ah, no! Your greater gifts prevail; But though to reach your side I fail, Through you triumphant in defeat, Even in death I will repeat,— Hail to the victor! Hail! . . .
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Vestal

VESTAL
SHE dwelt apart, as one whom love passed by, Yet in her heart love glowed with steadfast beam; And as the moonlight on a wintry stream With paly radiance doth glorify All barren things that in its circle lie, So, from within, love shed so fair a gleam About her, that it made her desert seem A paradise, abloom immortally.
Some rashly pitied her; but, to atone, If one perchance gazed long upon her face, He grew to feel himself more strangely lone— Love lent her look such amplitude of grace; Yet who that would have made that love his own Aught worthy had to offer in its place?
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/To the Muse

Published as "Poetry" in Poems (1898).
TO THE MUSE
ONE spot of green, watered by hidden streams, Makes summer in the desert where it gleams; And mortals, gazing on thy heavenly face, Forget the woes of earth, and share thy dreams!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Unrest

UNREST
WE trekked our way to the desert, My soul and I, alone: We passed beyond the world of men, And all men call their own, And came where never yet were laws On parchment writ or stone.
Mid vast and barren stretches Where Age speaks not to Age, Where ne'er doth spring a living thing Save the everlasting sage, I felt as the savage coyote, free— With a freedom naught could cage.
No milestones mark the desert: Though seasons come and go, Where the arid sands unmeasured lie None through the hour-glass flow; The desert has no memory— Nor can of promise know.
Unfettered mid the silence, Escaped from rule and law, ​The desert, like a sea-floor vast, Exultantly I saw; Yet distant heights that pierced the blue, Still troubled me with awe;
And when, turned from the mountains, I passed beyond the brush Where a sea-floor without weed or shell Burns breathless in the hush, There came mirage my sense to mock With grasses sweet and lush.
Thirst, not as that for water,— A thirst ne'er felt before,— Parched gradual in the soul of me Till I could bear no more; Earth seemed to cry: "Now whither fly From the dearth you struggled for?"
Reluctant, slow returning The common lot to share, With a new and strange emotion— Half longing, half despair, I said: "For man is no escape: Here bides the Law, as there!"
# Poems (Meynell, 1921)

London: Burns Oates & Washbourne Ltd., pages cover–10
​COLLECTED POEMS OF ALICE MEYNELL
| First | Edition | (2000), | April | 1913 |
| Second | " | (1000), | June | 1913 |
| Third | " | (4000), | July | 1913 |
| Fourth | " | (1000), | November | 1913 |
| Fifth | " | (1000), | February | 1914 |
| Sixth | " | (2000), | March | 1914 |
| Seventh | " | (1000), | September | 1917 |
| Eighth | " | (1000), | January | 1919 |
| Ninth | " | (2000), | Enlarged, |
| | | | May | 1921 |
Alice Meynell From a drawing by John S. Sargent R.A.
POEMS
by
Alice Meynell
London Burns Oates & Washbourne Ltd. 28 Orchard Street W1 8–10 Paternoster Row EC4 1921
To W. M.
This volume includes the author's very early verse, first published as "Preludes" and afterwards as "Poems" (issued in 1893), also the "Later Poems" (issued in 1901), together with others, since composed, and here first collected.
THE CONTENTS
EARLY POEMS
Sonnets
A Poet's Fancies
LATER POEMS
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
# Poems (Follen)/To a Humming-Bird

TO A HUMMING-BIRD.
To a humming-bird which flew into the window on a cold day, and became immediately so tame as to suck the honey from the flower in my hand.
# Persia/Chapter 11

CHAPTER VIII.
OF PRESENTS.
In enumerating the different kinds of imposts, we have adverted to the peshkeesh or presents which the governors of provinces are obliged to make to the king or to his ministers: we might have added, that the lowest agent of power is frequently necessitated to pay this kind of tribute to his superiors. This system of presents is a remarkable circumstance, peculiar we should suppose to Persia. The king receives them from his ministers and the chief officers of the crown; the governor of a province from his subordinates; and they are wrung from the people, who never receive any. When the king wishes to reward one of his officers, he appoints him to carry a khilaut to some great dignitary: it is customary for the latter to acknowledge the king's present by another made to his envoy, and the value of which is frequently double that of the former. In this manner, the sovereign remunerates the services of his officers without any expense to himself.
The consideration and influence of an ambassador, depend on the value of the presents which he brings. As soon as he has delivered them, they are valued by the officers of the king, and deposited in the different storehouses to which from their nature they belong, after an inventory has been made of them. The amount at which they are estimated, determines the degree of respect to be paid to the ambassador.
It is impossible to conceive to what a degree this traffic of presents has degraded the Persian character, or the abject meanness to which it has furnished occasion. A governor of a town will not blush to return a present because it is not sufficiently valuable; and the donor is then obliged to add a more ​sumptuous offering to excuse this heinous offence. A judge will refuse his decision, unless the parties previously bribe him to the exercise of his functions; nay, he will even claim a share of the profits of his servants. The Persian never gives any thing, but in expectation of a return. If he makes you a present without receiving at least one of equal value, he will not hesitate to demand it of you again.