OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The River Merchant's Wife: A Letter

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead I played about the front gate, pulling flowers. You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse; You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums. And we went on living in the village of Chokan: Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married My Lord you. I never laughed, being bashful. Lowering my head, I looked at the wall. Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.
At fifteen I stopped scowling, I desired my dust to be mingled with yours Forever and forever and forever. Why should I climb the lookout?
At sixteen you departed, You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies, And you have been gone five months. The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead. You dragged your feet when you went out. By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses, Too deep to clear them away! The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind. The paired butterflies are already yellow with August Over the grass in the West garden -- They hurt me. I grow older. If you are coming down through the narrows of the river, Please let me know beforehand, And I will come out to meet you  As far as Cho-fo-Sa.

### Notes

* From Monroe, Harriet and Henderson, Alice Corbin (editors) (1917). The New Poetry: An Anthology, (Macmillan, New York).
* Various footnotes are added to this poem in various sources:
** Translated by Ezra Pound from the notes of the late Ernest Fenollosa, with the decipherings of Professors Mori and Araga.
** from the Chinese poem by Li Po (in The New Poetry: An Anthology (1917))
** By Rihaku (in Lustra of Ezra Pound, with Earlier Poems (1917))
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1972, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 51 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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# The Rivals

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Rivals."
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, 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.
* The Rivals by Paul Laurence Dunbar
* The Rivals by Richard Brinsley Sheridan
* The Rivals, short story by Morgan Robertson
# The Unpopular History of the United States by Uncle Sam Himself/The Unpopular History

THE UNPOPULAR HISTORY
This is not a complete history. If it were more complete it would be less popular. I know that, for I published it once in full, for free distribution, and I could not get anybody to read a word.
This is not nearly all I want to say. I have just gone over the rough ground, and occasionally hit the high places, giving you as much as one healthy young fellow can believe—all at once. The fact is, I did not believe it myself, and never paid a bit of attention to General Upton when he first wrote his "Military Policy of the United States." I never caught the idea that we had a Military Policy, or needed one.
General Emory Upton was a West Pointer, and while no more than a boy, became one of the most distinguished officers in our Civil War. Afterwards, on the recommendation of General Sherman, I sent him to study the ​armies of Europe and Asia. What he wrote in the year 1880 embodied the practical lessons of the Civil War, and the results of military science throughout the world. It never touched me. I did not even print his book. His manuscript was filed and forgotten amongst the millions of documents in the archives of the War Department. The General printed some of it himself, through a private publisher, but it wouldn't sell.
Nearly 25 years later, long after his death, other officers investigated the subject and made me realize how true were his conclusions. Thereupon I published "Upton's Military Policy of the United States."
Every word that I have spoken here you will find in there; it has my official endorsement, printed on my presses, franked through my mails, and sent free to my people.
It's true as gospel, but folks say it doesn't taste good.
That's why I call these few brief extracts from Upton "The Unpopular History of the United States," by Uncle Sam Himself.
# The Unremembered

What stern prenatal palls occlude from us Once-dominant Signs, once-rampant arms! How straight The sunless road, suspended, separate, That leads from death to birth! Not luminous
With lodestar, or with star calamitous, The Past is closed as by the night-black spate Of planet-gulfing seas–-its keyless gate Lost in Avernian shadows cavernous.
In his bleak mercy, Death forever strips The soul of light and memory, rendering blind Our vision, lest surmounted deeps appall, As when on mountain-heights a glance behind Betrays with knowledge, and the climber slips Down gulfs of fear to some enormous fall.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1961, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 62 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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# The Unspeakable Gentleman

THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN
BY
J. P. MARQUAND
WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY A. I. KELLER
NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1922
Copyright, 1922, by Charles Scribner's Sons
Copyright, 1922, by the Curtis Publishing Co.
Printed in the United States of America
THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN
* Chapter 1
* Chapter 2
* Chapter 3
* Chapter 4
* Chapter 5
* Chapter 6
* Chapter 7
* Chapter 8
* Chapter 9
* Chapter 10
* Chapter 11
* Chapter 12
* Chapter 13
* Chapter 14
* Chapter 15
* Chapter 16
* Chapter 17
* Chapter 18
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1960, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 63 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Scene Changed, or, Betty's ta'en the Gee/Chapter 3

MOLLY'S ANSWER to her SAILOR.
Now Fortune's prov'd to him most kind. Sent him a fair and prosp'rous wind, Has sent him safe from the Spanish shore, And to his charmer, and to his charmer, Whom he did adore.
Your welcome home my jewel from sea. For many nights I've dream'd of thee: For when you're sailing to the Spanish shore, I never thought love, I never thought love, To see thee more.
Now they are married as we do hear, In peace and plenty living there: He proves loyal, and she proves kind. Unto his charmer, unto his charmer, He left behind.
# The Scene Changed, or, Betty's ta'en the Gee/Chapter 1

My WIFE SHE'S ta'en the GEE.
WHen I was young and unmarry'd, I liv'd a merry life. But yet I could not be content, until I got a wife: She never did controul me, nor raging, curse and ban. For I was more than half goodwife, so was I hale goodman.
My dear was loving all her life, and she was good to me. And I can swear, in all her life she never took the gee. If company had caused me sometimes to stay from hame. My dear would not blaspheming rail, nor yet express my name,
But lovingly would me exhort, such things for to let be, And I am sure in all her life she never took the gee. But on a time my love fell sick, alas! and she did die. For her my heart was like to break, she never took the gee.
For three long months and more, I'm sure, I made a heavy moan.
My friends comforted me, and said, I could not live alone; They said, they knew a dainty lass that would do well with me, But oh, alas! she's dead and gone that never took the gee.
With counsel and advice of them, at length I went to see her, But she appear'd so very nice, that I thought shame to speir At first, if she would marry me, Till courage wan the day; At last I fought and marry'd her, she never said me nay.
She was so very fair and clear, and comely for to see, You would have thought in twenty years she would not take the gee. But or the was a month marry'd, she paid me back and side. And aff my face with her lang nails she rave the very hide. Chor. The gee wife, the gee wife, Chor. my wife has ta'en the gee; Chor. And by my sooth I canna guess, Chor. how Betty's ta'en the gee.
⟨I⟩ ken not what to do with her, I can find no remeed; ⟨she⟩ causes me aft times to pray, and wish that I were dead;
Than live with her when she goes mad, I rather far would die, The devil take the roaring Jade when she takes on the gee. Chor. The gee wife, the gee wife, &c.
My wife and I went out to fight, and she gave me my beats; For all that I was fit to do, my wife she wan the breeks.
She drave the piss-pot in my face, and near dang oat my eye; And by my sooth I canna guess, how my wife's ta'en the gee. Chor, The gee wife, the gee wife, &c.
She rave the hair out of my head, and then she rave my cheeks; And ay since that unhappy day, my wife she wears the breeks. I wish that she was sent abroad, ten miles beyond the sea I hope my wife should ne'er return, for to take on the gee. Chor. The gee wife, the gee wife, &c.
# The Scene Changed, or, Betty's ta'en the Gee/Chapter 2

Molly's Grief for the Loss of her Sailor.
NOW I am come to take my leave, My dearest Molly pray do not grieve; For I am going to the Spanish shore; To leave my charmer, to leave my charmer, Whom I do adore.
My dearest Johnny, hearken to me. How many ships there's on the sea; You're better sleeping in your lover's arms, Free from all danger, free from all danger. And most dismal storms.
No storms nor danger love will I fear, I go to sea in a privateer; And if it please Fate to spare my life. When I return love, when I return love, I'll make you my wife.
There's one thing more disturbs my mind, Some other girl I'm afraid you'll find; For when you're sail'd to the Spanish shore, Then you may think, then you may think, On your Polly no more,
Though thousands of fine girls I see, None shall enjoy my love but thee: O then says Polly, if you be so true, I'll ne'er have one, I'll ne'er have one. My jewel but thee.
Then this couple they did part. Few knew the grief of true love's smart;
Then he took sipping, and away he went, And left poor Polly, and left poor Polly In tears to lament.
# The Wild Knight and Other Poems

* By the Babe Unborn
* The World’s Lover
* The Skeleton
* A Chord of Colour
* The Happy Man
* The Unpardonable Sin
* A Novelty
* Ultimate
* The Donkey
* The Beatific Vision
* The Hope of the Streets
* Ecclesiastes
* Song of the Children
* The Fish
* Gold Leaves
* Thou Shalt Not Kill a Certain Evening
* A Man and His Image
* The Mariner
* The Triumph of Man
* Cyclopean
* Joseph
* Modern Elfland
* Eternities
* A Christmas Carol
* Alone
* King’s Cross Station
* The Human Tree
* To Them That Mourn
* The Outlaw
* Behind
* The End of Fear
* The Holy of Holies
* The Mirror of Madmen
* E. C. B.
* The Desecraters
* An Alliance
* The Ancient of Days
* The Last Masquerade
* The Earth’s Shame
* Vanity
* The Lamp Post
* The Pessimist
* A Fairy Tale
* A Portrait
* Femina Contra Mundum
* To a Certain Nation
* The Praise of Dust
* The Ballad of the Battle of Gibeon
* ‘Vulgarised'
* The Ballad of God-Makers
* At Night
* The Woodcutter
* Art Colours
* The Two Women
* The Wild Knight
       Another tattered rhymster in the ring,
          With but the old plea to the sneering schools,
       That on him too, some secret night in spring
          Came the old frenzy of a hundred fools
       To make some thing: the old want dark and deep,
          The thirst of men, the hunger of the stars,
       Since first it tinged even the Eternal's sleep,
          With monstrous dreams of trees and towns and mars.
       When all He made for the first time He saw,
          Scattering stars as misers shake their pelf.
       Then in the last strange wrath broke His own law,
          And made a graven image of Himself.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1936, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 87 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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# The Wild Knight and Other Poems/A Fairy Tale

All things grew upwards, foul and fair: The great trees fought and beat the air With monstrous wings that would have flown; But the old earth clung to her own, Holding them back from heavenly wars, Though every flower sprang at the stars.
But he broke free: while all things ceased, Some hour increasing, he increased. The town beneath him seemed a map, Above the church he cocked his cap, Above the cross his feather flew Above the birds and still he grew.
The trees turned grass; the clouds were riven; His feet were mountains lost in heaven; Through strange new skies he rose alone, The earth fell from him like a stone, And his own limbs beneath him far Seemed tapering down to touch a star.
He reared his head, shaggy and grim, Staring among the cherubim; The seven celestial floors he rent, One crystal dome still o'er him bent: Above his head, more clear than hope, All heaven was a microscope.
# The Wild Knight and Other Poems/A Man and His Image

All day the nations climb and crawl and pray  In one long pilgrimage to one white shrine, Where sleeps a saint whose pardon, like his peace,  Is wide as death, as common, as divine.
His statue in an aureole fills the shrine,  The reckless nightingale, the roaming fawn, Share the broad blessing of his lifted hands,  Under the canopy, above the lawn.
But one strange night, a night of gale and flood,  A sound came louder than the wild wind's tone; The grave-gates shook and opened: and one stood  Blue in the moonlight, rotten to the bone.
Then on the statue, graven with holy smiles,  There came another smile - tremendous - one Of an Egyptian god. 'Why should you rise?  'Do I not guard your secret from the sun?
The nations come; they kneel among the flowers  Sprung from your blood, blossoms of May and June, Which do not poison them - is it not strange?  Speak!' And the dead man shuddered in the moon.
Shall I not cry the truth?' - the dead man cowered -  Is it not sad, with life so tame and cold, What earth should fade into the sun's white fires  With the best jest in all its tales untold?
'If I should cry that in this shrine lie hid  Stories that Satan from his mouth would spew; Wild tales that men in hell tell hoarsely - speak!  Saint and Deliverer! Should I slander you?'
Slowly the cowering corse reared up its head,  'Nay, I am vile ... but when for all to see, You stand there, pure and painless - death of life!  Let the stars fall - I say you slander me!
'You make me perfect, public, colourless;  You make my virtues sit at ease - you lie! For mine were never easy - lost or saved,  I had a soul - I was. And where am I?
Where is my good? the little real hoard,  The secret tears, the sudden chivalries; The tragic love, the futile triumph - where?  Thief, dog, and son of devils - where are these?
I will lift up my head: in leprous loves  Lost, and the soul's dishonourable scars - By God I was a better man than This  That stands and slanders me to all the stars.
'Come down!' And with an awful cry, the corse  Sprang on the sacred tomb of many tales, And stone and bone, locked in a loathsome strife,  Swayed to the singing of the nightingales.
Then one was thrown: and where the statue stood  Under the canopy, above the lawn, The corse stood; grey and lean, with lifted hands  Raised in tremendous welcome to the dawn.
'Now let all nations climb and crawl and pray;  Though I be basest of my old red clan, They shall not scale, with cries or sacrifice,  The stature of the spirit of a man.'
# The Wild Goose/The Old School Clock

The Old School Clock.
Old memories rush o'er my mind just now Of faces and friends of the past; Of that happy time when life's dream was all bright, E'er the clear sky of youth was o'ercast.
Very dear are those mem'ries,—they've clung round my heart. And bravely withstood time's rude shock; But not one is more hallowed or dear to me now Than the face of the Old School Clock.
'Twas a quaint old clock with a quaint old face, And great iron weights and chain; It stopped when it liked,—and before it struck It creaked as if 'twere in pain;
It had seen many years, and it seemed to say, —"I'm one of the real old stock," To the youthful fry, who with reverence looked On the face of the Old School Clock.
How many a time have I labored to sketch That yellow and time-honored face, With its basket of flowers, its figures and hands, And the weights and the chains in their place!
How oft have I gazed with admiring eye. As I sat on the wooden block. And pondered and guessed at the wonderful things That were inside that Old School Clock!
What a terrible frown did the old clock wear To the truant, who timidly cast An anxious eye on those merciless hands, That for him had been moving too fast!
But it lingered not long, for it loved to smile On the thoughtless, noisy flock, And it creaked and whirred and struck with glee,— Did that genial, good-humored old clock.
Well, years had passed, and my mind was filled With the world, its cares and ways. When again I stood in that little school Where I passed my boyhood's days.
My old friend was gone! and there hung a thing That my sorrow seemed to mock. As I gazed with a tear and a softened heart At a new-fashioned German clock.
'Twas a gaudy thing with bright-painted sides, And it looked with insolent stare On the desks and the seats and oh everything old And I thought of the friendly air—
Of the face that I missed, with its weights and chains,— All gone to the auctioneer's block: 'Tis a thing of the past,—never more shall I see But in mem'ry that Old School Clock.
'Tis the way of the world: old friends pass away. And fresh faces arise in their stead; But still 'mid the din and the bustle of life We cherish fond thoughts of the dead.
Yes, dear are those memories—they’ve cling round my heart, And bravely withstand Time's rude shock; But not one is more dear or more hallowed to me Than the face of that Old School Clock.
J.B.O'Reilly
# The Wild Knight and Other Poems/A Chord of Colour

My Lady clad herself in grey,  That caught and clung about her throat; Then all the long grey winter day  On me a living splendour smote; And why grey palmers holy are,  And why grey minsters great in story, And grey skies ring the morning star,  And grey hairs are a crown of glory.
My Lady clad herself in green,  Like meadows where the wind-waves pass; Then round my spirit spread, I ween,  A splendour of forgotten grass. Then all that dropped of stem or sod,  Hoarded as emeralds might be, I bowed to every bush, and trod  Amid the live grass fearfully.
My Lady clad herself in blue,  Then on me, like the seer long gone, The likeness of a sapphire grew,  The throne of him that sat thereon. Then knew I why the Fashioner  Splashed reckless blue on sky and sea; And ere 'twas good enough for her,  He tried it on Eternity.
Beneath the gnarled old Knowledge-tree  Sat, like an owl, the evil sage: 'The World's a bubble,' solemnly  He read, and turned a second page. 'A bubble, then, old crow,' I cried,  'God keep you in your weary wit! 'A bubble--have you ever spied  'The colours I have seen on it?'
# The Wild Knight and Other Poems/A Christmas Carol

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,  His hair was like a light. (O weary, weary were the world,  But here is all aright.)
The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast,  His hair was like a star. (O stern and cunning are the kings,  But here the true hearts are.)
The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,  His hair was like a fire. (O weary, weary is the world,  But here the world's desire.)
The Christ-child stood at Mary's knee,  His hair was like a crown, And all the flowers looked up at him.  And all the stars looked down.
# The Wild Huntsman

* The Wild Huntsman, in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 8, 1823.
* The Wild Huntsman, in The Forest Sanctuary, and Other Poems (Lays of Many Lands), 1825.
# The Voice of Scio

* The Voice of Scio, in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 7, 1823.
* The Voice of Scio, in The Siege of Valencia; The Last Constantine: with Other Poems, 1823.
# The Voice of Truth/Preface

​Book-making has become so common, that unless some new. subject flits before your eyes; some mighty mystery is found out; some great secret is unravelled; some woful wonder hung up in black and white to touch the very finest sensibilities of human nature; and, finally, if some "Absalom" does not go forth with "more disclosures on Mormonism, booted and spurred" with affidavits of men and women, doubled and twisted, with the most solemn religious sanctity, for,
("'Tis from high life, high characters are drawn. A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn;")
to steal the hearts of the people, the best written and most holy productions, are hooted at as a speculation, got up with an eye to singe fame, and a hand double for cash: but, gentle reader, the "Voice of Truth" is like one crying in the midst of a great city at midnight,—Fire! fire!! fire!!!
The sanctuaries of religion are on fire; the temple of liberty is on fire; the nation is on fire; the world is on fire, and the great mobs of the whole earth, with their dark lanterns glimmering, ever and anon, through the black clouds of vengeance, like the sullen lion's eyes before he leaps upon his prey, are an all-sufficient signal, that towns, cities, nations and kingdoms, will be sacked, pillaged and plundered, and "but few men left" Fear has seized upon all hearts, while the "nobles of the land," instead of exclaiming, "to your tents O Israel!" and watch, for thieves, are now gambling for your rights among the tombs of your ​illustrious fathers! They also are "rioting" and revelling in the sanctum sanctorum of freedom; while the voice of the widow, the fatherless, and the oppressed exile.
In such an awful dilemma: upon the eve of such a tempest of trouble: as a messenger that only escaped alone to tell thee, the Voice of Truth, composed of facts, to favor the people, is sent forth to open the eyes, unstop the ears and quicken the senses of wise men to arise in the panoply of virtuous patriots, and save the nation from ruin and disgrace, and themselves from the ravages of wrath! Shall wisdom cry aloud and not her speech be heard? what say the people!
* ↑ Alexander Pope in "Epistle to Sir Richard Temple, Lord Viscount Cobham."
* ↑ Isaiah 24:6 reads, "Therefore hath the curse devoured the earth, and they that dwell therein are desolate: therefore the inhabitants of the earth are burned, and few men left."
* ↑ 1 Kings 12:16
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.
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