OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems (1898)/A Tomb in Tuscany

A TOMB IN TUSCANY
In Montepulciano fair,— Long famous for that vintage rare, Prized by the giver of the vine Above all wine— There dwelt a man whose years had taught him To seek, beyond what wealth had brought him, Something to give his transient name A lasting fame.
"For lordly palaces," he said, "Shall crumble; ay, and bastions dread, And temples grave and gardens gay Become as they; Each vaunted image of my power Shall perish like a wayside flower, And like the hawk my hand hath fed Lie waste and dead.
"Wherefore, ere yet my days be spent, I will uprear a monument That 'gainst the envious floods of Time Shall stand sublime; My treasures vast shall serve and cherish ​An art too heavenly to perish: A beauty, born of passion pure, That shall endure!"
So spoke he; and now lies asleep, While near him forms angelic keep Unwearied watch, and from decay Guard him alway: Rare, sculptured forms that blend his story With Donatello's deathless glory, And make mankind his debtors be Eternally.
For lordly castles, as he said, Have crumbled; ay, and bastions dread, And temples grave and gardens gay Become as they. Each vaunted image of his power Has perished like a wayside flower, But living in the art he fed, He is not dead!
# Poems (1898)/Achilles

ACHILLES
When, with a mortal mother's helpless tears, Thetis, the silver-footed, to her son Revealed the choice in death he might not shun; The goddess-born, longing for lengthened years In his own land, with all that life endears— Renounced Earth's breathing pleasures new begun, And chose to die in youth, each conflict won, Leaving a fame no blight autumnal sears.
The Argives sleep, the Trojan hosts are dumb, And no man knows where Homer's ashes be; Yet, echoing down the list'ning ages, come— E'en to this distant nineteenth century— The hero's words by warlike Ilium, And strengthen others in their need, and me!
# Poems (1898)/An Idler

AN IDLER
She cannot wind the distaff, She can nor bake nor brew; Her hands are indeed too dainty Such labors to pursue.
She cares not to follow the harvest, She neither can sow nor glean, But waits for the weary reapers With cheerful calm serene.
Commanding all to serve her, From service she is free; But, ah, my babe so helpless Is health and wealth to me!
# Poems (1898)/At Break of Day

AT BREAK OF DAY
I thought that past the gates of doom, Where Orpheus played a strain divine Of love importunate as mine, Unto the dwellings of the dead I came through paths of gloom.
Around me, looming dark through cloud, Vast walls arose whence mournful fell The shadow and the hush of hell; And silence, brooding, palpable, inwrapped me like a shroud.
Naught blossomed there; in that chill place Where longing dwells divorced from hope, Naught to a joyless horoscope Lent prophecies of future grace, but—I beheld thy face!
And I awoke,—songs trembling near,— Awoke and saw day's chariot pass Bright gleaming o’er the meadow-grass, And knew this glad earth, without thee, than realms of death more drear!
# Poems (1898)/A Valentine

This poem was not included in Mrs. Coates' collected Poems (1916, in 2 vols.).
A VALENTINE
Fear not that I shall tell the world, O lady mine, how sweet thou art, Fear not that others so shall gain The secret of my heart; For though my lips should carol praise From night till morn, from morn till eve, Thy loveliness, O lady mine, Who had not known could not believe!
To praise the rose is not to paint Its perfume, in the air afloat; No words can voice the violet, Or trill the throstle's note; Nor may I fondly hope in song Thy mystic graces to impart,— Who hath not known thee, lady mine, Will never dream how sweet thou art!
# Poems (1898)/Adieu

ADIEU
Adieu! I know that I no more Shall behold you, Your future lies beyond her door Who consoled you;
The world has promised to redeem Each new sorrow, It beckons, and you lightly dream Of a morrow.
I weep not, nor shall futile sighs Hold you longer, The pity in your loveless eyes Makes me stronger,
For terrible, past loss of mine, Hath arisen The dread to know what was your shrine— But your prison.
I listen while your lips protest, Heavy hearted, For by your wishes unexpress'd— We are parted: ​I listen, and hope's fickle glow Fades away. Why mock my grief? If you can go— Wherefore stay?
In all the past we still were true, You and I, love; Few words suffice to bid adieu, Few to die, love;
The loneliest stand face to face, Disunited, And thoughts of love that strain through space Are requited!
# Poems (1898)/Alexander III

ALEXANDER III
(LIVADIA, NOVEMBER 1, 1894)
The world in mourning for a Russian Tsar! A despot of the nineteenth century Mourned by the nations that have made men free! Ye captives of his rule! where'er ye be, Whether in dungeons or in mines afar— Wretches who mourn, yet mourn not for the Tsar,— Forgive the tears that seem a wrong to grief Barren of comfort and without relief!— The Tsar was Russia's martyr,—as ye are!
He asked for peace, and she ordained him strife. A Slav of simple heart, disliking show, She bade him every lowly hope forego; And placing on his brow her crown of woe, Gave him a sovereignty with perils rife, And 'neath his sceptre hid the assassin's knife. So, masked as Fear, she broke his nerves of steel Upon the circle of her racking wheel, And set a horror at his door of life! ​Humanity but sorrows for her own; The Autocrat she mourns not, but the man, Who, loving Russia, lived beneath her ban, Powerless to soften fate or change the plan That called him all unwilling to a throne, Hereditary evils to atone. She mourns not Cæsar, but the pathos old Of a quick conscience, driven to uphold A dynasty the world had long outgrown.
Woe to the Tsar!—Livadia's cannon boom, Proclaiming that the Tsar from woe is free! Peace to the Tsar! but, Russia, woe to thee! Still he who rules thee shall thy victim be, Tortured by griefs that shall his heart consume, Till he and thou, risen as from the tomb, Shall see the light on Liberty's calm face, Shall know that tyranny must yield its place
# Oriental Scenes, Dramatic Sketches and Tales/Twilight with the Fairies

TWILIGHT WITH THE FAIRIES.
A fairy grot, and a fairy lute,
 A fairy bark to float over the tide,
When the winds are hushed, and the billows mute,
 And the sun has sunk to his ocean-bride.
How joyous it is to sit within
 That elfin cave with its crystal spars,
While the glittering waves come dancing in,
 As they catch the light of the gleaming stars.
How joyous to list to the fairy song
 Which swells o'er that broad and tranquil sea—
While nereiad voices the notes prolong
 Thrilling the soul with their minstrelsy.
Joyous it is in our fairy boat
 When dolphins sport on the trackless main,
Like spirits of brighter spheres, to float
 And steer to our sparry grot again.
Joyous it is with the fairy crew
 To share the feast so daintily spread—
To quaff the honied and rainbowed dew,
 And sip the perfume from roses shed.
Oh! when will the twilight hour arrive,
 With its mystic sounds and its mystic sights— And who in this dull cold world would live,
 When fairy-land offers such rare delights?
# Oriental Scenes, Dramatic Sketches and Tales/The Voyage of Love

THE VOYAGE OF LOVE.
Oh haste on board!—My gallant boat,
 While skies are bright and sun-beams smile,
Shall gaily o'er the waters float,
 And steer for Pleasure's fairy isle.
'Tis summer's prime; each bud and flower
 Glows upon hill, and dale, and grove— Oh! seize the blest auspicious hour
 And haste on board—and sail with Love!
Fair Hope my silken sail has wrought
 To waft us o'er the silvery tides,
Young Enterprize the rudder brought,
 Which his adventurous spirit guides.
Upon the deck I'll rear a light
 And trelliced bower of myrtle wove—
The winds are hushed, the skies are bright,
 Oh! haste on board, and sail with Love!
The maiden heard the gentle song,
 She saw the gaily painted bark;
The path by Prudence urged was long,
 And led through valleys drear and dark.
The silken sails, the pennons gay
 Have lured her truant steps to rove,
She leaves the rough and rugged way
 To sail o'er tranquil seas with Love.
Swiftly towards Pleasure's flowery realm
 Love's fleet and buoyant vessel flies,
And still through sunny straits, the helm
 Is boldly steered by Enterprize.
The fairy prow leaps dancing o'er
 The rippling wave by cliff and cove—
Who would not quit the lonely shore
 To sail to Pleasure's Isle with Love?
But soon tempestuous winds arise,
 Loud roars the surge, descends the rain,
And vainly does young Enterprize
 His rudder urge to land again.
He swims to shore—on pinions gay,
 While with the weltering wave he strove,
His wily patron speeds away,
 But she was wrecked who sailed with Love.
# Oriental Stories/Volume 1/Issue 1/Flower Profiles

Flower Profiles
By Hung Long Tom
How many times through countless hours Have I heard Li Kan describing wondrous profiles Of the girls he paints on vases and fans And white bits of old ivory.
The profile of a golden girl Against a soft blue screen is finer far Than any cameo yet carved, Loveliest of pictures lying 'neath the sun.
Now through my garden I walk and dream and smile. Has one not noticed the profile of a flower, The lovely clear Line of a tea-rose Laughing in the sun, Or of a pale pink peony Lush with morning dew?
Is there a music more exquisite Than the perfume of a rose? Or a sweeter profile Than a simple garden flower?
# Poems (Dorr)/The Sonnet

SONNETS
# Poems (Dorr)/The Three Ships

EARLIER POEMS
# Our American Holidays - Christmas/Is there a Santa Claus?

CHRISTMAS
IS THERE A SANTA CLAUS?
The following, reprinted from the editorial page of the New York Sun, was written by the late Mr. Frank P. Church:
We take pleasure in answering at once and thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:
Dear Editor: I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says "If you see it in The Sun it's so." Please tell me the truth ; is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O'Hanlon.
Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the scepticism of a sceptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless ​world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is ​a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
# Our American Holidays - Christmas/Masters in the Hall

This song by Morris is incorrectly cited as anonymous in this edition.
MASTERS IN THIS HALL
ANONYMOUS
"To Bethlem did they go, the shepherds three;
To Bethlem did they go to see whe'r it were so or no,
Whether Christ were born or no
 To set men free."
 Masters, in this hall,
 Hear ye news to-day
 Brought over sea,
 And ever I you pray.
 Nowell! Nowell! Nowell! Nowell!
 Sing we clear!
 Holpen are all folk on earth,  Born is God's Son so dear.
 Going over the hills,
 Through the milk-white snow.
 Heard I ewes bleat
 While the wind did blow.
 Nowell, &c.
 Shepherds many an one
 Sat among the sheep;
 No man spake more word
 Than they had been asleep.
 Nowell, &c.
Quoth I 'Fellows mine,
 Why this guise sit ye?
 Making but dull cheer,
 Shepherds though ye be?
 Nowell, &c.
 'Shepherds should of right
 Leap and dance and sing;
 Thus to see ye sit
 Is a right strange thing.'
 Nowell, &c.
 Quoth these fellows then
 'To Bethlem town we go,
 To see a Mighty Lord
 Lie in manger low.'
 Nowell, &c.
 'How name ye this Lord,
 Shepherds?' then said I.
 'Very God' they said,
 'Come from Heaven high.'
 Nowell, &c.
 Then to Bethlem town
 We went two and two,
 And in a sorry place
 Heard the oxen low.
 Nowell, &c.
 Therein did we see
 A sweet and goodly May,
And a fair old man;
 Upon the straw she lay.
 Nowell, &c.
 And a little CHILD  On her arm had she;
 'Wot ye who this is?'
 Said the hinds to me.
 Nowell, &c.
 Ox and ass him know,
 Kneeling on their knee:  Wondrous joy had I
 This little BABE to see.
 Nowell, &c.
 This is CHRIST the Lord,
 Masters, be ye glad!
 Christmas is come in,  And no folk should be sad.
 Nowell, &c.
# Our American Holidays - Christmas/Merry Christmas

MERRY CHRISTMAS
ANON
In the rush of the merry morning,
 When the red burns through the gray, And the wintry world lies waiting
 For the glory of the day;
Then we hear a fitful rushing
 Just without upon the stair, See two white phantoms coming,  Catch the gleam of sunny hair.
Are they Christmas fairies stealing
 Rows of little socks to fill?
Are they angels floating hither
 With their message of good-will?
What sweet spell are these elves weaving,
 As like larks they chirp and sing?
Are these palms of peace from heaven
 That these lovely spirits bring?
Rosy feet upon the threshold,  Eager faces peeping through,
With the first red ray of sunshine,  Chanting cherubs come in view;
Mistletoe and gleaming holly,
 Symbols of a blessed day,
In their chubby hands they carry,
 Streaming all along the way.
Well we know them, never weary
 Of this innocent surprise;
Waiting, watching, listening always
 With full hearts and tender eyes,
While our little household angels,
 White and golden in the sun,
Greet us with the sweet old welcome,—  "Merry Christmas, every one!"
# Our American Holidays - Christmas/Keeping Christmas

KEEPING CHRISTMAS
Romans, xiv, 6: He that regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the Lord,
HENRY VAN DYKE
It is a good thing to observe Christmas day. The mere marking of times and seasons, when men agree to stop work and make merry together, is a wise and wholesome custom. It helps one to feel the supremacy of the common life over the individual life. It reminds a man to set his own little watch, now and then, by the great clock of humanity which runs on sun time.
But there is a better thing than the observance of Christmas day, and that is, keeping Christmas.
Are you willing to forget what you have done for other people, and to remember what other people have done for you; to ignore what the world owes you, and to think what you owe the world; to put your rights in the background, and your duties in the middle distance, and your chances to do a little more than your duty in the foreground; to see that your fellow-men are just as real as you are, and try to ​look behind their faces to their hearts, hungry for joy; to own that probably the only good reason for your existence is not what you are going to get out of life, but what you are going to give to life ; to close your book of complaints against the management of the universe, and look around you for a place where you can sow a few seeds of happiness — are you willing to do these things even for a day? Then you can keep Christmas.
Are you willing to stoop down and consider the needs and the desires of little children; to remember the weakness and loneliness of people who are growing old; to stop asking how much your friends love you, and ask yourself whether you love them enough; to bear in mind the things that other people have to bear in their hearts; to try to understand what those who live in the same house with you really want, without waiting for them to tell you; to trim your lamp so that it will give more light and less smoke, and to carry it in front so that your shadow will fall behind you; to make a grave for your ugly thoughts and a garden for your kindly feelings, with the gate open — are you willing to do these things even for a day? Then you can keep Christmas.
Are you willing to believe that love is the strongest thing in the world — stronger than hate, stronger than evil, stronger than death — and that the blessed life which began in ​Bethlehem nineteen hundred years ago is the image and brightness of the Eternal Love? Then you can keep Christmas,
And if you keep it for a day, why not always?
But you can never keep it alone.
# Our American Holidays - Christmas/Minstrels and Maids

MINSTRELS AND MAIDS
WILLIAM MORRIS
Outlanders, whence come ye last?
 The snow in the street and the wind on the door.
Through what green seas and great have ye past?
 Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
From far away, O masters mine,  The snow in the street and the wind on the door.
We come to bear you goodly wine.
 Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
From far away we come to you,  The snow in the street and the wind on the door. To tell of great tidings strange and true,
 Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
News, news of the Trinity,
 The snow in the street and the wind on the door.
And Mary and Joseph from over the sea!
 Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
For as we wandered far and wide,
 The snow in the street and the wind on the door.
What hap do you deem there should us betide!
 Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
Under a bent when the night was deep,
 The snow in the street and the wind on the door.
There lay three shepherds tending their sheep.  Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
"O ye shepherds, what have ye seen,
 The snow in the street and the wind on the door.
To slay your sorrow, and heal your teen?"
 Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
" In an ox-stall this night we saw,
 The snow in the street and the wind on the door.
A babe and a maid without a flaw.
 Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
"There was an old man there beside,  The snow in the street and the wind on the door. His hair was white and his hood was wide.  Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
"And as we gazed this thing upon,
 The snow in the street and the wind on the door. Those twain knelt down to the Little One,
 Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
"And a marvellous song we straight did hear,
 The snow in the street and the wind on the door. That slew our sorrow and healed our care."
 Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
News of a fair and marvellous thing,
 The snow in the street and the wind on the door. Nowell, nowell, nowell, we sing!
 Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
# Our American Holidays - Christmas/Listen Lordings, Unto Me

CHRISTMAS CAROL
Listen, lordings, unto me, a tale I will you tell;
Which, as on this night of glee, in David's town befell.
Joseph came from Nazareth with Mary, that sweet maid; Weary were they nigh to death, and for a lodging prayed.
In the inn they found no room; a scanty bed they made; Soon a babe, an angel pure, was in the manger laid. Forth He came, as light through glass, He came to save us all. In the stable, ox and ass before their Maker fall.
Shepherd’s lay afield that night to keep the silly sheep, Hosts of angels in their sight came down from Heaven's high steep:— Tidings! tidings unto you! to you a child is born, Purer than the drops of dew, and brighter than the morn!
Onward then the angels sped, the shepherds onwards went,— God was in His manger bed; in worship low they bent. In the morning see ye mind, my masters one and all, At the altar Him to find, who lay within the stall.
Chorus.
Sing high, sing low,  Sing to and fro,  Go tell it out with speed,  Cry out and shout,  All round about,  That Christ is born indeed! Pray whither sailed those ships all three  On Christmas day in the morning?
Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem  On Christmas day, on Christmas day; Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem  On Christmas day in the morning.
And all the bells on earth shall ring  On Christmas day, on Christmas day; And all the bells on earth shall ring  On Christmas day in the morning.
And all the angels in heaven shall sing  On Christmas day, on Christmas day; And all the angels in heaven shall sing  On Christmas day in the morning.
And all the souls on earth shall sing  On Christmas day, on Christmas day; And all the souls on earth shall sing  On Christmas day in the morning.
Then let us all rejoice amain  On Christmas day, on Christmas day; Then let us all rejoice amain  On Christmas day in the morning.
# Our American Holidays - Christmas/Mark Well My Heavy, Doleful Tale

MARK WELL MY HEAVY DOLEFUL TALE
ANONYMOUS
Mark well my heavy doleful tale,  For Twelfth-day now is come,
And now I must no longer sing,  And say no words but mum;
For I perforce must take my leave  Of all my dainty cheer,
Plum-porridge, roast beef, and minced pies,  My strong ale and my beer.
Kind-hearted Christmas, now adieu,  For I with thee must part,
And for to take my leave of thee  Doth grieve me at the heart;
Thou wert an ancient housekeeper,  And mirth with meat didst keep,
But thou art going out of town.  Which makes me for to weep.
God knoweth whether I again
 Thy merry face shall see,
Which to good-fellows and the poor  That was so frank and free.
Thou lovedst pastime with thy heart,  And eke good company;
Pray hold me up for fear I swoon,  For I am like to die.
Come, butler, fill a brimmer up  To cheer my fainting heart,
That to old Christmas I may drink  Before he doth depart;
And let each one that's in this room  With me likewise condole.
And for to cheer their spirits sad  Let each one drink a bowl.
And when the same it hath gone round  Then fall unto your cheer,
For you do know that Christmas time  It comes but once a year.
But this good draught which I have drunk  Hath comforted my heart,
For I was very fearful that  My stomach would depart.
Thanks to my master and my dame  That doth such cheer afford;
God bless them, that each Christmas they  May furnish thus their board.
My stomach having come to me,  I mean to have a bout,
Intending to eat most heartily;  Good friends, I do not flout.