OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter/The Beggar Maid

From The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter (1907).
THE BEGGAR MAID
All on a golden morning the beggar maid did go To gather branch and berry, the hazel-nut and aloe. And as she went a-singing, a gipsy woman came Beneath a bower of branches—a grey and withered dame.
“Your fortune, pretty lady, I pray you stop and hear, I tell of one who loves you, of child you will hold dear. Cross you my palm with silver, for in your hand I see That gold shall lie full often, so pity give to me.”
The beggar child made answer in laughter low and gay “Alack, you have mistaken, good mother, hie away; I am no high-born lady, my fortune soon is told. I wed some roaming fellow who hath nor land nor gold.
“My son—if God should bless me—a-seeking too must go— To gather branch and berry, the hazel-nut and sloe.” Then spake the gipsy woman and took her brown young hand, “Nay, you shall reign hereafter as queen of all the land.
“For see—the splendid future—that whispers of a throne— And here the happy heart-line that owns one love alone.” “Good mother,” said the maiden, “that love make true to be. And I resign the kingdom—yet never owned by me.”
“My daughter,” said the gipsy, “he'll clothe you all in white, And set you for your riding a palfrey black as night; Upon your hair so yellow, a jewelled crown shall shine, And gold shall be your wine cup and ruby red your wine.”
“My throne it is the mountain, my wine the running streams. Such things as power and glory are only sweet in dreams; Good mother,” said the maiden, “I pray you let me go, For I must gather brambles, the berry and the sloe.
“You meet me but with laughter, a beggar maid am I, Who have no greater kingdom than bird that wings the sky; But like him I go singing who have no wealth to care: None comes her way to envy whose treasure-house is bare.”
And as she spoke a horn blast came ringing through the wood, She raised her leafy burden—a timid moment stood; “Hush, 'tis the King Cophetua, a-hunting he doth go— And I must gather berries, the hazel-nut and sloe.”
# The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter/The Bridal of Lady Aideen

From The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter (1907).
THE BRIDAL OF LADY AIDEEN
O Lady Aideen, will you wed with me, wed with me in the early morning? A silken gown for your body's wear, a golden crown for your hair's adorning. (One flirting magpie on the quicken tree flies from his perching 'twixt you and me.) The proudest colt that my land has fed For you shall chafe first harnessed, And for your bidding six maidens be. (O bird of sorrow, 'tween hope and me!)
O Earl Desmond. I am loath to speak, loath to speak for your true heart's sorrow, I'll be a bride at no man's altar, though I be a wedded bride to-morrow. (Death's hand closes on the digging spade; rest for ever 'neath the yew-tree's shade.) Six slow steeds will my body bear. To fret or prance they will not care. And no handmaiden with me would dwell. (Hark I the tolling of the passing bell.)
O Lady Aideen, will you name for me, name for me who won my refusing? Who hath the singing and all the sun on earth for ever and I the losing? (Oh, the plough horses going off from me, sorrow and tears will my harvest be!) My arms were strong for your woman's fear; My heart were weak for your loving, dear. What can he give whom you will not name? (Clings a winding-sheet by the candle's flame.)
O Earl Desmond, be you brave for sorrow, brave for sorrow which is no man's shielding;
Love has wept till his eyes grew blind, and victory's not in a weapon's yielding.
(Six black horses awaiting me, the ring of the spade has ceased to be.)
My lord is named with a bated breath,
Whom hope calls “Life” and despair names “Death.” And, oh, his love no world can kill! (The banshee waits on the window-sill.)
# The Czechoslovak Review/Volume 2/With the Slovak League

WITH THE SLOVAK LEAGUE.
A meeting was held in Pittsburgh on October 30th to make preparations on behalf of the Slovak League to have their case properly presented at the coming peace conference and to take some action with reference to reconstruction in Slovakia after the war. The committee in charge of this work was appointed by the Slovak League and consists of the following gentlemen: Albert Mamatej, president of the League, Jan Janček, secretary of the League, Joseph Hušek, of Middletown, Pa., Milan Getting, of Perth-Amboy, N. J., Ivan Bielek and Paul Sochaň of Pittsburgh, and Joza Žák of Washington.
The most important practical action decided upon by the committee was to organize immediately in this country large supplies of clothing, shoes, agricultural and industrial tools, machinery and other supplies and to export them to Slovakia as soon as practicable after hostilities cease. The goods will be sold to the people at cost price and on easy terms so that even the poorest Slovak farmer or laborer might be enabled to purchase the necessaries of life and of his calling. lt is planned to secure a capital of $15,000,000 and Mr. Ivan Bielek was charged with the organization of this company.
The committee decided further to undertake the publication of popular booklets on agriculture and industry for distribution to the poor people in the old country.
The Million-Dollar Fund which is being collected by the Slovak League for the political fight on behalf of Czecho-slovak independence will soon be completed. For a long time the money was coming slowly by the first big impulse was given by the Slovak Bazaar held in Chicago which netted $30,000. Then came Scranton, where the Slovaks under the leadership of Michael Bosak collected $33,000. Then the Slovaks of Bridgeport. Conn., decided to beat the record of Scranton and in one week they gathered in $60,000; much of the credit for Bridgeport’s great showing is due to S. Ambrose. This put it up to Pittsburgh, which has always been the centre of Slovak life in this country. Mr. Mamatej and Mr. Bielek hope to make Pittsburgh’s contribution to the Million-Dollar Fund a full hundred thousand dollars.
This work was published before January 1, 1929 and is anonymous or pseudonymous due to unknown authorship. It is in the public domain in the United States as well as countries and areas where the copyright terms of anonymous or pseudonymous works are 95 years or less since publication.
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# The Crooked Man And Other Rhymes

* related portals: Children's literature, Nursery rhymes.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
There was a crooked man, and he went a crooked mile, And he found a crooked six-pence against a crooked stile; He bought a crooked hat, which caught a crooked mouse, And they all lived together in alittle crooked house.
Go to bed Tom, go to bed Tom— Merry or sober, go to bed Tom.
Little Tommy Grace, Had a pain in his face, So that he could not learn a letter;
When in came Dicky Long, Singing such a funny song, That Tommy laughed, and found his face much better.
Shoe the horse, shoe the mare, Let the little colt go bare.
A dog and a cat went out together, To see some friends just out of town; Said the cat to the dog, "What d'ye think of the weather? "I think, Ma'am, the rain will come down."
"But don't be alarmed, for I've an umbrella That will shelter us both," said this amiable fellow.
Oh, the rusty, dusty, rusty miller, I'll not change my wife for gold or siller.
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, And Jack jump over the candlestick.
Hiccory, diccory, dock, The mouse ran up the clock; The clock struck one, The mouse ran down, Hiccory, diccory, dock.
A horse and cart Had Billy Smart, To play with when it pleased him; The cart he'd load By the side of the road, And be happy if no one teased him.
Bow-wow-wow, Whose dog art thou? Little Tom Tucker's dog, Bow-wow-wow
Hark! hark! the dogs do bark, Beggars are coming to town, Some in jags, and some in rags, And some in velvet gowns.
[Advertisements]
AUNT MARY'S
LITTLE SERIES.
New Royal 32mo Toys.—1 Cent Toy
Books—Bright Cover and Good
Little Books.
TWELVE KINDS.
Harry Heedless, One, Two, Buckle My Shoe, Five Little Pigs, Mischievous Boys, Greedy George, Primer, The Crooked Man, and Other Rhymes, Peter White, and Other Rhymes, Jack Spratt, and Other Rhymes, Tom Tucker, and Other Rhymes, Old Mother Hubbard.
SAME BOOKS, COLORED INSIDE,
Electrotyped by VINCENT DILL, Jr., 94 Beekman St., N. Y.
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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# The Cross (Donne)

Since Christ embraced the Cross itself, Dare I His image, th' image of his Cross deny? Would I have profit by the sacrifice, And dare the chosen altar to despise? It bore all other sins, but is it fit That it should bear the sin of scorning it? Who from the picture would avert his eye, How would he fly his pains, who there did die? From me, no pulpit, nor misgrounded law, Nor scandal taken, shall this Cross withdraw, It shall not, for it cannot; for, the loss Of thisCross, were to me another cross; Better were worse, for, no affliction, No cross is so extreme, as to have none. Who can blot out the Cross, which th' instrument Of God, dewed on me in the Sacrament? WHo can deny me power, and liberty To stretch mine arms, and mine own cross to be? Swim, and at every stroke, thou art thy cross, The mast and yard make one, where seas do toss. Look down, thou spiest out crosses in small things; Look up, thous seest birds raided on crossed wings; All the globe's frame, and sphere's, is nothing else But the meridians crossing parallels. Material crosses then, good physic be, And yet spiritual have chief dignity. These for extracted chemic medicine serve, And cure much better, and as well preserve; Then are you your own physic, or need none, When stilled, or purged by tribulation. For when that Cross ungrudged, unto you sticks, Then are you to yourself, a crucifix. As perchance, carvers do not faces make, But that away, which hid them there, do take: Let crosses, so, take what hid Christ in thee, And be his image, or not his, but he. But, as oft alchemists do coiners prove, So may a self-despising, get self-love. And then as worst surfeits, of best eats be, So is pride, issued from humility, For, 'tis no child, but monster; therefore cross Your joy in crosses, else, 'tis double loss, And cross thy sense, else, both they, and thou Must perish soon, and to destruction bow. For if the'eye seek good objects, and will take No cross from bad, we cannot 'scape a snake. So with harsh, hard, sour, stinking, cross the rest, Make them indifferent; call nothing best. But most the eye needs crossing, that can roam, And move; to th' others th' objects must come home. And cross thy heart: for that in man alone Points downwards, and hat palpitation.
Cross those dejection, when it downward tends, And when it to forbidden heights pretends. And as the brain through bony walls doth vent By sutures, which a cross's form present, So when thy brain works, ere thou utter it, Cross and correct concupiscence of wit. Be covetous of crosses, let none fall. Cross no man else, but cross thyself in all. Then doth the Cross of Christ work fruitfully Within our hearts, when we love harmlessly That Cross's pictures much, and with more care That Cross's children, which our crosses are.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Cross Pull

THE CROSS PULL
NEW BORZOI NOVELS SPRING, 1920
PETER JAMESON By Gilbert Frankau
THE SECRET BATTLE By A. P. Herbert
DELIVERANCE By E. L. Grant Watson
THE ROLLING STONE By C. A. Dawson-Scott
THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM By J. S. Fletcher
WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD By E. M. Forster
THE CROSS PULL
HAL G. EVARTS
NEW YORKALFRED · A · KNOPFMCMXX
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY HAL G. EVARTS
Copyright, 1919, by The Cartle Publishing Co. printed in the united states of america
* Chapter I
* Chapter II
* Chapter III
* Chapter IV
* Chapter V
* Chapter VI
* Chapter VII
* Chapter VIII
* Chapter IX
* Chapter X
* Chapter XI
* Chapter XII
* Chapter XIII
* Chapter XIV
* Chapter XV
* Chapter XVI
* Chapter XVII
* Chapter XVIII
* Chapter XIX
* Chapter XX
* Chapter XXI
* Chapter XXII
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 1934, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 89 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 Cross-Current

published in: Anthology of Massachusetts Poets (1922)
THROUGH twelve stout generations New England blood I boast; The stubborn pastures bred them, The grim, uncordial coast,
Sedate and proud old cities,— Loved well enough by me, Then how should I be yearning To scour the earth and sea.
Each of my Yankee forbears Wed a New England mate: They dwelt and did and died here, Nor glimpsed a rosier fate.
My clan endured their kindred; But foreigners they loathed, And wandering folk, and minstrels, And gypsies motley-clothed.
Then why do patches please me, Fantastic, wild array? Why have I vagrant fancies For lads from far away.
My folk were godly Churchmen,— Or paced in Elders' weeds; But all were grave and pious And hated heathen creeds.
Then why are Thor and Wotan To dread forces still? Why does my heart go questing For Pan beyond the hill?
My people clutched at freedom.— Though others' wills they chained,— But made the Law and kept it,— And Beauty, they restrained.
Then why am I a rebel To laws of rule and square? Why would I dream and dally, Or, reckless, do and dare?
O righteous, solemn Grandsires, O dames, correct and mild, Who bred me of your virtues! Whence comes this changing child?—
The thirteenth generation,— Unlucky number this!— My grandma loved a Pirate, And all my faults are his!
A gallant, ruffled rover, With beauty-loving eye, He swept Colonial waters Of coarser, bloodier fry.
He waved his hat to danger, At Law he shook his fist. Ah, merrily he plundered, He sang and fought and kissed!
Though none have found his treasure, And none his part would take,— I bless that thirteenth lady Who chose him for my sake!
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 1927, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 96 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 Cross

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Cross."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* “The Cross,” a poem by John Donne
* “The Cross,” a poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
# The Criticism of Chateaubriand

The Criticism of Chateaubriand By Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.)
From The New Monthly Magazine, Vol 48, 1836 Compiled by Peter J. Bolton
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/A Back-Log Song

A BACK-LOG SONG
De axes has been ringin' in de woods de blessid day,  An' de chips has been a-fallin' fa' an' thick; Dey has cut de bigges' hick'ry dat de mules kin tote away,  An' dey's laid hit down and soaked it in de crik. Den dey tuk hit to de big house an' dey piled de wood erroun'  In de fiah-place f'om ash-flo' to de flue, While ol' Ezry sta'ts de hymn dat evah yeah has got to soun'  When de back-log fus' commence a-bu'nin' thoo.
Ol' Mastah is a-smilin' on de da'kies f'om de hall, Ol' Mistus is a-stannin' in de do', An' de young folks, males an' misses, is a-tryin', one an' all,  Fu' to mek us feel hit 's Chrismus time fu' sho'. An' ouah hea'ts are full of pleasure, fu' we know de time is ouahs  Fu' to dance er do jes' whut we wants to do. An' dey ain't no ovahseer an' no othah kind o' powahs  Dat kin stop us while dat log is bu'nin thoo.
Dey 's a-wokin' in de qua'tahs a-preparin' fu' de feas',  So de little pigs is feelin' kind o' shy. De chickens ain't so trus'ful ez dey was, to say de leas',  An' de wise ol' hens is roostin' mighty high. You could n't git a gobblah fu' to look you in de face—  I ain't sayin' whut de tu'ky 'spects is true; But hit's mighty dange'ous trav'lin' fu' de critters on de place F'om de time dat log commence a bu'nin' thoo.
Some one's tunin' up his fiddle dah, I hyeah a banjo's ring,  An', bless me, dat's de tootin' of a ho'n! Now dey 'll evah one be runnin' dat has got a foot to fling,  An' dey 'll dance an' frolic on f'om now 'twell mo'n. Plunk de banjo, scrap de fiddle, blow dat ho'n yo' level bes',  Keep yo' min' erpon de chune an' step it true. Oh, dey ain't no time fu' stoppin' an' dey ain't no time fu' res',  Fu' hit 's Chrismus an' de back-log 's bu'nin' thoo!
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/A Banjo Song

A BANJO SONG Oh, dere 's lots o' keer an' trouble  In dis world to swaller down; An' ol' Sorrer 's purty lively  In her way o' gittin' roun'. Yet dere's times when I furgit em,—  Aches an' pains an' troubles all,— An' it's when I tek at ebenin'  My ol' banjo f'om de wall.
'Bout de time dat night is fallin'  An' my daily wu'k is done, An' above de shady hilltops  I kin see de settin' sun; When de quiet, restful shadders  Is beginnin' jes' to fall,— Den I take de little banjo  F'om its place upon de wall.
Den my fam'ly gadders roun' me  In de fadin' o' de light, Ez I strike de strings to try 'em  Ef dey all is tuned er-right. An' it seems we 're so nigh heaben  We kin hyeah de angels sing When de music o' dat banjo  Sets my cabin all er-ring.
An' my wife an' all de othahs,—  Male an' female, small an' big,— Even up to gray-haired granny,  Seem jes' boun' to do a jig; 'Twell I change de style o' music,  Change de movement an' de time, An' de ringin' little banjo  Plays an ol' hea't-feelin' hime.
An' somehow my th'oat gits choky,  An' a lump keeps tryin' to rise Lak it wan'ed to ketch de water  Dat was flowin' to my eyes; An' I feel dat I could sorter  Knock de socks clean off o' sin Ez I hyeah my po' ol' granny  Wif huh tremblin' voice jine in.
Den we all th'ow in our voices  Fu' to he'p de chune out too, Lak a big camp-meetin' choiry  Tryin' to sing a mou'nah th'oo. An' our th'oahts let out de music,  Sweet an' solemn, loud an' free, 'Twell de raftahs o' my cabin  Echo wif de melody.
Oh, de music o' de banjo,  Quick an' deb'lish, solemn, slow, Is de greates' joy an' solace  Dat a weary slave kin know! So jes' let me hyeah it ringin',  Dough de chune be po' an' rough, It's a pleasure; an' de pleasures  O' dis life is few enough.
Now, de blessed little angels  Up in heaben, we are told, Don't do nothin' all dere lifetime  'Ceptin' play on ha'ps o' gold. Now I think heaben 'd be mo' homelike  Ef we 'd hyeah some music fall F'om a real ol'-fashioned banjo,  Like dat one upon de wall.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/A Bridal Measure

A BRIDAL MEASURE
Come, essay a sprightly measure, Tuned to some light song of pleasure.  Maidens, let your brows be crowned  As we foot this merry round.
From the ground a voice is singing, From the sod a soul is springing.  Who shall say 't is but a clod  Quick'ning upward toward its God?
Who shall say it? Who may know it, That the clod is not a poet  Waiting but a gleam to waken  In a spirit music-shaken?
Phyllis, Phyllis, why be waiting? In the woods the birds are mating.  From the tree beside the wall,  Hear the am'rous robin call.
Listen to yon thrush's trilling; Phyllis, Phyllis, are you willing,  When love speaks from cave and tree,  Only we should silent be?
When the year, itself renewing, All the world with flowers is strewing,  Then through Youth's Arcadian land,  Love and song go hand in hand.
Come, unfold your vocal treasure, Sing with me a nuptial measure,—  Let this springtime gambol be  Bridal dance for you and me.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge/Songs of the Fields/Waiting

WAITING
A strange old woman on the wayside sate, Looked far away and shook her head and sighed. And when anon, close by, a rusty gate Loud on the warm winds cried, She lifted up her eyes and said, "You're late." Then shook her head and sighed.
And evening found her thus, and night in state Walked thro' the starlight, and a heavy tide Followed the yellow moon around her wait, And morning walked in wide. She lifted up her eyes and said, "You're late." Then shook her head and sighed.
# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar

The COMPLETE POEMS of PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR
[Advertisements]
THE COMPLETE POEMS OF PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR
WITH THE INTRODUCTION TO "LYRICS OF LOWLY LIFE"
BY W. D. HOWELLS
NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 1913
Copyright 1895, 1896, 1897, 1898, 1901, 1902, 1903, 1904, 1905 By The Century Co.
Copyright 1897, 1898, 1901, 1902, 1903, 1904, 1905 By The Curtis Publishing Co.
Copyright 1898 By The Outlook Co.
Copyright 1898 By J. B. Walker
Copyright 1903 By W. IL. Gannett
Copyright 1896, 1899, 1903, 1905, 1913 By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
Published, October, 1913
DEDICATIONS
LYRICS OF LOWLY LIFE TO MY MOTHER
LYRICS OF THE HEARTHSIDE TO ALICE
LYRICS OF LOVE AND LAUGHTER TO MISS CATHERINE IMPEY
LYRICS OF SUNSHINE AND SHADOW TO MRS. FRANK CONOVER WITH THANKS FOR HER LONG BELIEF
* Introduction to Lyrics of Lowly Life
* [Poems in order]
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/"Howdy, Honey, Howdy!"

"HOWDY, HONEY, HOWDY!"
Do' a-stan'in' on a jar, fiah a-shinin' thoo, Ol' folks drowsin' 'roun' de place, wide awake is Lou, W'en I tap, she answeh, an' I see huh 'mence to grin, "Howdy, honey, howdy, won't you step right in?"
Den I step erpon de log layin' at de do', Bless de Lawd, huh mammy an' huh pap's done 'menced to sno', Now's de time, ef evah, ef I's gwine to try an' win, "Howdy, honey, howdy, won't you step right in?"
No use playin' on de aidge, trimblin' on de brink, Wen a body love a gal, tell huh whut he t'ink; W'en huh hea't is open fu' de love you gwine to gin, Pull yo'se'f togethah, suh, an' step right in.
Sweetes' imbitation dat a body evah hyeahed, Sweetah den de music of a lovesick mockin'-bird, Comin' f'om de gal you loves bettah den yo' kin, "Howdy, honey, howdy, won't you step right in?"
At de gate o' heaven w'en de storm o' life is pas', 'Spec' I 'll be a-stan'in', 'twell de Mastah say at las', "Hyeah he stan' all weary, but he winned his fight wid sin. Howdy, honey, howdy, won't you step right in?"
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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