OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Patterson v. United States (359 U.S. 495)

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
359 U.S. 495
Patterson v. United States (359 U.S. 495)
Argued: April 21, 1959. --- Decided: May 18, 1959
See 360 U.S. 914, 79 S.Ct. 1293.
Mr. Jacob Rassner, New York City, for petitioners.
Mr. Leavenworth Colby, Washington, D.C., for respondent.
PER CURIAM.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Patterson v. Warden

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
372 U.S. 776
Patterson v. Warden
Patterson, pro se.
Thomas B. Finan, Atty. Gen. of Maryland, and Gerard W. Wittstadt, Asst. Atty. Gen., for respondent.
On Petition for Writ of Certiorari to the Court of Appeals of Maryland.
PER CURIAM.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Patton's v. Easton

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
14 U.S. 476
Patton's v. Easton

## 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
# Poems (Bass)

Poems.
by
CORA C. BASS.
[Harley Vane.]
LOWELL, MASS.:
Lawler & Co., Printers, 36 Central Street.
1899.
Copyright by
CORA C. BASS.
1899
PREFACE.
Thanks are due to The New York Observer, The Churchman, Zion's Herald, Christian Register, The Standard, Outing, Boston Transcript, Portland Transcript, The New England Home Magazine, and others, for permission to re-print poems of mine that have appeared in their columns.
CORA C. BASS.
CONTENTS.
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
# Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc/Book I

BOOK 1
IN DOMREMY
# Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc/A Peculiarity of Joan of Arc's History

A Peculiarity of Joan of Arc's history
The details of the life of Joan of Arc form a biography which is unique among the world's biographies in one respect: It is the only story of a human life which comes to us under oath, the only one which comes to us from the witness-stand. The official records of the Great Trial of 1431, and of the Process of Rehabilitation of a quarter of a century later, are still preserved in the National Archives of France, and they furnish with remarkable fullness the facts of her life. The history of no other life of that remote time is known with either the certainty or the comprehensiveness that attaches to hers.
The Sieur Louis de Conte is faithful to her official history in his Personal Recollections, and thus far his trustworthiness is unimpeachable; but his mass of added particulars must depend for credit upon his word alone.
The Translator.
# Pictures & poems/La Bella Mano

LA BELLA MANO
O LOVELY hand, that thy sweet self doth lave
In that thy pure and proper element,
Whence erst the Lady of Love's high advent
Was born, and endless fires sprang from the wave:—
Even as her Loves to her their offerings gave,
For thee the jewelled gifts they bear; while each
Looks to those lips, of music-measured speech
The fount, and of more bliss than man may crave.
In royal wise ring-girt and bracelet-spann'd,
A flower of Venus' own virginity,
Go shine among thy sisterly sweet band;
In maiden-minded converse delicately
Evermore white and soft; until thou be,
O hand! heart-handsel'd in a lover's hand.
# Pictures & poems/Astarte Syriaca

Astarte Syriaca
ASTARTE SYRIACA
MYSTERY: lo! betwixt the sun and moon
Astarte of the Syrians: Venus Queen
Ere Aphrodite was. In silver sheen
Her twofold girdle clasps the infinite boon
Of bliss whereof the heaven and earth commune:
And from her neck's inclining flower-stem lean
Love-freighted lips and absolute eyes that wean
The pulse of hearts to the spheres' dominant tune.
Torch-bearing, her sweet ministers compel
All thrones of light beyond the sky and sea
The witnesses of Beauty's face to be:
That face, of Love's all-penetrative spell
Amulet, talisman, and oracle,—
Betwixt the sun and moon a mystery.
# Pictures & poems/Lilith

Lilith
LILITH
OF Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told
(The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,)
That, ere the snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive,
And her enchanted hair was the first gold.
And still she sits, young while the earth is old,
And, subtly of herself contemplative,
Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave,
Till heart and body and life are in its hold.
The rose and poppy are her flowers; for where
Is he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent
And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare?
Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine, so went
Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent
And round his heart one strangling golden hair.
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/Wraiths

WRAITHS
# Pictures

I.
Light, warmth, and sprouting greenness, and o'er all Blue, stainless, steel-bright ether, raining down Tranquillity upon the deep-hushed town, The freshening meadows, and the hillsides brown; Voice of the west-wind from the hills of pine, And the brimmed river from its distant fall, Low hum of bees, and joyous interlude Of bird-songs in the streamlet-skirting wood,-- Heralds and prophecies of sound and sight, Blessed forerunners of the warmth and light, Attendant angels to the house of prayer, With reverent footsteps keeping pace with mine,-- Once more, through God's great love, with you I share A morn of resurrection sweet and fair As that which saw, of old, in Palestine, Immortal Love uprising in fresh bloom From the dark night and winter of the tomb! 2d, 5th mo., 1852.
II.
White with its sun-bleached dust, the pathway winds Before me; dust is on the shrunken grass, And on the trees beneath whose boughs I pass; Frail screen against the Hunter of the sky, Who, glaring on me with his lidless eye, While mounting with his dog-star high and higher Ambushed in light intolerable, unbinds The burnished quiver of his shafts of fire. Between me and the hot fields of his South A tremulous glow, as from a furnace-mouth, Glimmers and swims before my dazzled sight, As if the burning arrows of his ire Broke as they fell, and shattered into light; Yet on my cheek I feel the western wind, And hear it telling to the orchard trees, And to the faint and flower-forsaken bees, Tales of fair meadows, green with constant streams, And mountains rising blue and cool behind, Where in moist dells the purple orchis gleams, And starred with white the virgin's bower is twined. So the o'erwearied pilgrim, as he fares Along life's summer waste, at times is fanned, Even at noontide, by the cool, sweet airs Of a serener and a holier land, Fresh as the morn, and as the dewfall bland. Breath of the blessed Heaven for which we pray, Blow from the eternal hills! make glad our earthly way! 8th mo., 1852.
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
# Pictures & poems/A Sea-Spell

A Sea-Spell
A SEA-SPELL
HER lute hangs shadowed in the apple-tree,
While flashing fingers weave the sweet-strung spell
Between its chords; and as the wild notes swell,
The sea-bird for those branches leaves the sea.
But to what sound her listening ear stoops she?
What netherworld gulf-whispers doth she hear,
In answering echoes from what planisphere,
Along the wind, along the estuary?
She sinks into her spell: and when full soon
Her lips move and she soars into her song,
What creatures of the midmost main shall throng
In furrowed surf-clouds to the summoning rune:
Till he, the fated mariner, hears her cry,
And up her rock, bare-breasted, comes to die?
# Pictures & poems/Cassandra

Cassandra
CASSANDRA
I
REND, rend thy hair, Cassandra: he will go.
Yea, rend thy garments, wring thy hands, and cry
From Troy still towered to the unreddened sky.
See, all but she that bore thee mock thy woe:—
He most whom that fair woman arms, with show
Of wrath on her bent brows; for in this place
This hour thou bad'st all men in Helen's face
The ravished ravishing prize of Death to know.
What eyes, what ears hath sweet Andromache,
Save for her Hector's form and step; as tear
On tear make salt the warm last kiss he gave?
He goes. Cassandra's words beat heavily
Like crows above his crest, and at his ear
Ring hollow in the shield that shall not save.
II
"O Hector, gone, gone, gone! O Hector, thee
Two chariots wait, in Troy long bless'd and curs'd;
And Grecian spear and Phrygian sand athirst
Crave from thy veins the blood of victory.
Lo! long upon our hearth the brand had we,
Lit for the roof-tree's ruin: and to-day
The ground-stone quits the wall,—the wind hath way.—
And higher and higher the wings of fire are free.
O Paris, Paris! O thou burning brand,
Thou beacon of the sea whence Venus rose,
Lighting thy race to shipwreck! Even that hand
Wherewith she took thine apple let her close
Within thy curls at last, and while Troy glows
Lift thee her trophy to the sea and land."
# Pictures & poems/Fiammetta

Fiammetta
FIAMMETTA
BEHOLD Fiammetta, shown in Vision here.
Gloom-girt 'mid Spring-flushed apple-growth she stands;
And as she sways the branches with her hands,
Along her arm the sundered bloom falls sheer,
In separate petals shed, each like a tear;
While from the quivering bough the bird expands
His wings. And lo! thy spirit understands
Life shaken and shower'd and flown, and Death drawn near.
All stirs with change. Her garments beat the air:
The angel circling round her aureole
Shimmers in flight against the tree's grey bole:
While she, with reassuring eyes most fair,
A presage and a promise stands; as 'twere
# Pictures & poems/"Found"

"Found"
"FOUND"
THERE is a budding morrow in midnight:"—
So sang our Keats, our English nightingale.
And here, as lamps across the bridge turn pale
In London's smokeless resurrection-light,
Dark breaks to dawn. But o'er the deadly blight
Of Love deflowered and sorrow of none avail,
Which makes this man gasp and this woman quail,
Can day from darkness ever again take flight?
Ah! gave not these two hearts their mutual pledge,
Under one mantle sheltered 'neath the hedge
In gloaming courtship? And, O God! to-day
He only knows he holds her;—but what part
Can life now take ? She cries in her locked heart,—
"Leave me—I do not know you—go away!"
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Étienne de la Boéce

ÉTIENNE DE LA BOÉCE
I serve you not, if you I follow, Shadowlike, o'er hill and hollow; And bend my fancy to your leading, All too nimble for my treading. When the pilgrimage is done, And we've the landscape overrun, I am bitter, vacant, thwarted, And your heart is unsupported. Vainly valiant, you have missed The manhood that should yours resist,— Its complement; but if I could, In severe or cordial mood, Lead you rightly to my altar, Where the wisest Muses falter, And worship that world-warming spark Which dazzles me in midnight dark, Equalizing small and large, While the soul it doth surcharge, Till the poor is wealthy grown, And the hermit never alone,— The traveller and the road seem one With the errand to be done,— That were a man's and lover's part, That were Freedom's whitest chart.
# Poems (Eminescu)/A Dacian's Prayer

A DACIAN'S PRAYER
When Death was not, and nothing immortal had been wrought, Nor light’s divinest kernel the world its life had brought, When yesterday, to-morrow, to-day had yet no name, When one was all, wherever, and all was one, the same; When earth, and air, and heavens, the whole world that is seen Were in the deep abysm like things that have not been— Thou wast alone, and anxious myself I’m asking now: Who is the God, to whom we, with hearts most humble, bow?
Sole God he was, when others were not, and in the dark Unfathomable ocean gave force to light’s first spark, He is mankind’s great saviour and source of happiness, To gods gives soul and power and everything doth bless: Cheer up your hearts! Adore him and praise in sacred hymn, For life and resurrection from death all come through him!
He gave me eyes most happy that they may see the light, He filled my heart with pity, with high, divine delight, How through the world he paces in roaring winds I heard, I heard in songs most holy his sweetest voice, his word, And still one thing I ask him from inmost bosom’s core: That he may now allow me to rest for evermore!
To curse all those who pity will show for me, to bless All those who make me suffer and ruthlessly oppress, To those who spurning mock me to listen, and believe, And to the arm that kills me the utmost force to give, And he among all others as first may praisèd be Who e’en my stony pillow will steal away from me.
​Pursued by all and hunted shall pass away my years Till they will have exhausted the fountain of my tears, Till I shall feel that each man for me is but a foe, Till my own self thus hated by all I shall not know, Till endless pain and anguish my heart have so oppressed That I may curse my mother whom I, of all, loved best— When utmost cruel hatred like love seems to my eye, My suffering forgetting, perhaps I might then die.
And if, by all accursèd, I die a stranger, they Upon the street my body to dogs shall throw away, And him who sets them on me, that they may tear my heart, O him, my gracious Father, the highest crown impart, And him who stones will on me with hatred throw, O give My Lord, that he in glory eternally may live!
Thus only can I, Father, sing praises thanking Thee, That graciously Thou gavest this earthly boon to me. I do not bend my forehead for other gifts, Thy ire, Thy curses and Thy hatred are all that I desire, To feel how disappearing my breath by Thine is quelled, And in the night eternal I traceless am dispelled.
# Poems (Eminescu)/Eve on the Hill

EVE ON THE HILL.
Dreary the horn sounds in the eve on the hill, Sheepflocks return, stars on their way twinkle still, Watersprings weep murmuring clear, and I see Under a tree, love, thou art waiting for me.
Holy and pure passes the moon on the sky, Moist seem the stars born from the vault clear and high, Longing thine eyes look from afar to divine, Heaving thy breast, pensive thy head doth recline.
Tired with their toil, peasants come back from the field, From the old church, labourer’s comfort and shield, Voices of bells thrill the whole sky high above; Struck is my heart, trembling and burning with love.
Ah! very soon quietness steals over all, Ah! very soon hasten shall I to thy call, Under the tree, there I shall sit the whole night, Telling thee, love, thou art my only delight.
Cheek press’d to cheek, there in sweet ecstasy we, Falling asleep under the old locust-tree, Smiling in dream, seem in a heaven to live, For such a night who his whole life would not give?
# Poems (Eminescu)/In that narrow lane...

IN THAT NARROW LANE…
In that narrow lane as always Shines the moon on windows clear, Only thou behind the lattice Never dost again appear!
And the same old tree now stretches O’er the hedge its blooming bough, Only those old days so happy As they were cannot be now.
Changèd is thy soul now wholly, Changèd are thy looks to-day, Only I, the same remaining, Wander on the wonted way.
Graceful, slender, gently treading, Thou didst come, so sweet and soft, To that secret grove, where longing I did wait for thee so oft.
With thee near my heart, not knowing What on earth around us stirred, O how much we were then telling, Without uttering a word!
Kisses were the only answer To all questions, and the best; Nothing else on earth desiring, With life’s utmost charm then blest.
​I forgot, thus happy dreaming, That it is the same, forsooth, If one leans against a shadow Or believes in woman’s truth.
Winds blow in the trembling curtains, As they did in days of yore, Only there behind the windows Thy sweet face appears no more.
# Poems (Eminescu)

M. EMINESCU
POEMS
TRANSLATED FROM THE RUMANIAN
BY
P. GRIMM
CLUJ TIPOGRAFIA „CARTEA ROMÂNEASCǍ“ 1938
M. EMINESCU
POEMS
TRANSLATED FROM THE RUMANIAN
BY
P. GRIMM
CLUJ TIPOGRAFIA „CARTEA ROMÂNEASCǍ“ 1938
To my British and American friends with gratitude for their kindness.
CONTENTS
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was first published outside the United States (and not published in the U.S. within 30 days), and it was first published before 1989 without complying with U.S. copyright formalities (renewal and/or copyright notice) and it was in the public domain in its home country on the URAA date (January 1, 1996 for most countries).
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 (Eminescu)/Forest, O my forest

FOREST, O MY FOREST
(In popular form)
Forest, O my forest dear, What dost thou so lonesome here? For since I have seen thee last Many weary years have past, And since I have gone away In the world I much did stray.
—O, I do as in the past, Listen to the winter’s blast, Which my branches tears and breaks, Chains with ice my streams and lakes, On my paths snow-hills will lay, All my songsters drives away. And I do, as long ago, Listen when the women go Singing their old doina song, As they walk the path along, To the fountain, where they still Come their water pails to fill.
—Forest dear with quiet streams All in this world flowing seems; Time goes past, but only thou Still art young and younger now.
​—What is time, when every night Shines for me the stars’ still light! Be the weather good or bad, Be it sunny, be it sad, Winds through rustling leaves still blow And the Danube’s waters flow. Man alone is wavering, Changeable and wandering, While we all the same remain, Mountains, rivers, the great main, As we were so we abide, This great world with deserts wide, Sun, moon, stars, eternal things, And the forest with its springs.
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Xenophanes

XENOPHANES
By fate, not option, frugal Nature gave One scent to hyson and to wall-flower, One sound to pine-groves and to waterfalls, One aspect to the desert and the lake. It was her stern necessity: all things Are of one pattern made; bird, beast and flower, Song, picture, form, space, thought and character Deceive us, seeming to be many things, And are but one. Beheld far off, they part As God and devil; bring them to the mind, They dull its edge with their monotony. To know one element, explore another, And in the second reappears the first. The specious panorama of a year But multiplies the image of a day,— A belt of mirrors round a taper's flame; And universal Nature, through her vast And crowded whole, an infinite paroquet, Repeats one note.
# Poemas ingleses/I

Set ope all shutters, that the day come in Like a sea or a din! Let not a nook of useless shade compel Thoughts of the night, or tell The mind's comparing that some things are sad, For this day all are glad! 'Tis morn, 'tis open morn, the full sun is Risen from out the abyss Where last night lay beyond the unseen rim Of the horizon dim. Now is the bride awaking. Lo! she starts To feel the day is home Whose too-near night will put two different hearts To beat as near as flesh can let them come. Guess how she joys in her feared going, nor opes Her eyes for fear of fearing at her joy. Now is the pained arrival of all hopes. With the half-thought she scarce knows how to toy. Oh, let her wait a moment or a day And prepare for the fray For which her thoughts not ever quite prepare! With the real day's arrival she's half wroth. Though she wish what she wants, she yet doth stay. Her dreams yet merged are In the slow verge of sleep, which idly doth The accurate hope of things remotely mar.
# Poem on the Lisbon Disaster

* related portals: French literature.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
English-language translations of Poème sur le désastre de Lisbonne include:
* (1901) The Lisbon Earthquake by William F. Fleming
* (1912) Poem on the Lisbon Disaster by Joseph McCabe
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
# Poem on the passion of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ

A POEM ON THE PASSION OF OUR Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. By Mr. Welsh, late of Liverpool —8—
WHAT sinful soul cannot lament and cry, And weep for Christ who for our sins did die? He all our sins upon his shoulders bore, All this for sinners Jesus did and more, When Christ knew his death was drawing near, His soul got sorry unto death for fear: In pain and agony his blood did flow, All this for sinners Christ did undergo. The traitor Judas did our Lord betray, And then the wicked Jews took him away— To Annas and Caiphas he was led, His dear disciples from their Lord had fled, Twas there they did our Saviour Christ accuse, Spit in his face and did his cheeks abuse: Sweet Saviour dear, those pains you did endure In agony our sinful wounds to cure. To Pilate then our Saviour he was brought, The wicked Jews for cruel witness sought, They falsely did accuse him to his face, The Lamb of God did meekly hold his peace. These bloody wretches all with one accord To Pilates judgment hall they brought the Lord, They stript him there, his tender flesh they tore. Then streams of blood ran down from every pore. A purple garment then they did prepare, That shameful robe they made the Lord to wear, They put a crown of thorns upon his head, ​And pressed them down fill both his temples bled. In pain and agony the Lord he stood Until his face was all besmeared with blood, They took a reed and smote him with disgrace, The Lamb of God did meekly hold his peace, Then Piiate and the Jews they had agreed, That Christ should die and Barabbas be freed, They cried aloud the Lord to crucify, And let his blood on them forever lie. When Jesus was delivered to the Jews, His sorrows grief and tortures still renews, Upon his bloody back a cross they laid, That tore the flesh from off his shoulder blade, The purple garment that he humbly wore, They tore it off renewing every sore, His hands and feet they bor’d with Iron pins, All his the Lord did suffer for our sins. When on the cross the Lord did hang with pain, This cruel mob did imprecate amain, The sun and moon did hide for fear, to see A dying Jesus hang upon a tree From pole to pole a darkness overspread, The graves flew open and threw up their dead, The rocks did split, the temple rent to twain, When the Holy Lamb of God was slain. Behold a tyrant with a bloody spear Did pierce the side of our Savior dear, His body dead just from his sacred side, Came blood and water flowing like a tide. The mother of Christ in sorrow did appear, What mortal with her could not shed one tear And weep for Jesus martyred by his foes, Laid on her knees Ob there for to repose. When our Saviour yielded up his breath, He conquered hell, likewise the grave and death, Pray then to be with Christ in heaven above, Where nothing is but glory, peace and love.
PRICE ONE PENNY.
John Muir, Printer, Glasgow.
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
# Poem on the Death of Oliver Cromwell

* related portals: Poetry.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Cromwell is dead, and risen; and dead again, And risen the third time after he was slain No wonder! For he’s messenger of Hell: And now he buffets us, now posts to tell What’s past; and for one more game new counsel takes Of his good friend the Devil, who keeps the stakes.
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