OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Modern Russian Poetry/Ivan Bunin

Ivan Bunin
(Born 1870)
When Bunin came to Petersburg at the age of twenty-five he brought with him memories of shabby manorial grandeur, of hack work in the provinces, and of a Tolstoyan influence that at one time persuaded him to become a cooper. The young man, meeting the modernists for the first time, dubbed them "sick boys with complete chaos in their heads." Bunin is himself a traditionalist in an age of iconoclasm, a realist in a neoromantic generation, a sober lyricist solitary among his ecstatic fellows. His minor music has the simplicity and sincerity of a sorrowful Mozart. He celebrates the melancholy charm of vanishing things, never foreswearing his classic clarity. Yet there is a growing exotic strain in this poet of the Northern Russian landscape. He is a less vivid Leconte de Lisle, revivifying forgotten deities and filling his verse with Oriental color, fragrance and warmth. His nostalgia for the distant seems to grow by the travel upon which it feeds. Perhaps this intimacy with what is foreign gives his translations from Longfellow, Byron and Tennyson their remarkably rich quality.
When in 1909 Bunin was elected to the Academy of Sciences, this rare distinction was conferred upon him for his prose as much as for his poetry. Indeed the former is the part of his work which bulks largest. His prose œuvre consists of his black and bitter sketches of the Russian peasantry, naked studies in psychology, and tales in the manner of a diminutive Joseph Conrad. "The Gentleman from San Francisco," one of his most recent and impressive stories, is the only one available in English.
Bunin was one of the first to flee Soviet rule, eventually settling in Paris.
# Modern Russian Poetry/Lubov Stolitza

Lubov Stolitza
This young woman poet exhibits a charm which is insistently and delightfully feminine.
# Modern Russian Poetry/Mikhail Kuzmin

Mikhail Kuzmin
(Born 1877)
This sensitive and precious décadent, who flaunts his descent from French emigres and Russian noblemen, delights in literary masquerading. He is in turn an eighteenth century dandy, a Byzantine romancer, a contemporary of Boccaccio, or a fin de siècle Alexandrian. His Alexandrian Songs imprison all the exquisite fatigues and refined perversions of a culture cynical about its own passing. The texture of his poetry shows the care and competence lavished by a belle upon her complexion. His lyrics have the perfumed fragility and piquant charm of Somov's paintings.
# Modern Russian Poetry/My Temple

MY TEMPLE
Who rears a temple, rears two monuments:
His own and the destroyer's. They who build
Accept Herostratos' arbitraments:
And to the torch the chisel's work is willed.
Both will stand firm before posterity,
And equal glory Fame to each will lend.
But thou, my air-domed temple, shalt not be
Mocked by the vengeance of the general end.
On an abyss of ruin is thy lease,
Thou'rt in the furnace of negation fired;
n thee the hymns of solace shall not cease:
With sorrow winged, by calm despair inspired.
Thee, legioned sufferings guard, in iron mail,
And in their vanguard Death, who shall prevail.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# Modern Russian Poetry/Messengers

MESSENGERS
In fields hopeless and dumb
Droops the pale-bladed grain;
It is dozing and numb
Amid dreams that are vain. . . .
With a high sudden hum
The field tosses its mane:
"Unto us Christ is come!"
The wild news shakes the plain.
Like a wind-beaten drum
Shouts the quivering grain.
The bells ring soft and slow,
There is clamor and pain
In the church, and a low
Voice is lifted again
That reiterates: "Woe!"
To the poor folk and plain
Are brought candles aglow:
"Christ is coming again!"
But with voices of woe
They file doorward, in pain.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# More songs by the fighting men. Soldiers poets: second series/David Cox McEwen Osborne

DAVID COX McEWEN OSBORNE
Lance-Corporal, 1st Middlesex
May-Day
WHO loveth whom He chasteneth Hath smote the earth again With golden rods of sunshine And silver rods of rain.
Our little laughing sister Hath doffed and put away The black she wore for penance And white for Easterday.
She binds her hair with cunning And dons her gown of green That all the flowers embroider And all the dews wash clean.
Her golden-throated skylark That sings and soars so high With praise and adoration Perfects the splendid sky.
​For seed and soul that quicken By Him have death withstood Who blessed the whole Creation And saw that it was good.
Private Claye
(Killed 27th June, 1917)
FROM clay in strength our native oak-tree grows To height and girth and spread of largest span; The sweet and crimson riot of the rose; And wheat, the bread and sacrament of man. Clay built our homes, and towns of civil folk Where born were manners, arts and liberty; Clay are the pipes whence age can blow but smoke, And children orbs of bliss and vanity. This is fine clay: our common clay is finer Which England mine hath modelled not in strife To strive for England, and the Great Designer Into the nostrils breathed the breath of life. Claye, I salute what everlasting fame Informs thine ancient and illustrious name.
# More songs by the fighting men. Soldiers poets: second series/Collin Brooks

COLLIN BROOKS
Sergeant, Machine Gun Corps
To Another Poor Poet
SHALL God forget these darkling years we spend In poverty and misery and toil Unlit save by a glint of faëry spoil That gleams and leads us, steadfast, to His end, The darkling years when only Hope is friend To Courage who, from where our foes embroil, Still calls us onward—onward tho' the soil Engulf both us and all that we defend?
The spoken word holds true: the swords we wield Upended show the Cross that, potent yet, Shall prove each wound we suffer on the field No sacrifice made vainly to abet A senseless purpose. Wait but for the yield Of all our toil and—God shall not forget.
# More songs by the fighting men. Soldiers poets: second series/Dudley H. Harris

DUDLEY H. HARRIS
Cadet, Tank Corps
Left Alone
LEFT alone among the dying! All around are moaning, sighing, Or are cursing, sobbing, crying In Death's crushing, hushing hand. We are torn upon the wire, We are scorched and burnt with fire, Or lie choking in the mire Of the star-lit "No Man's Land."
​Hear our prayers, O! gentle Jesus, Send Thine angels down to ease us From the pains of Hell that seize us, From our burning, yearning thirst. We are broken, we are battered, Bodies twisted, crushed and shattered By the shells and bullets scattered On this strip of land accurst.
Round about are shadows creeping, Formless Things which wake the sleeping, Glaring eyes from shell-holes peeping, Mocking always at our pain. Cold and wet our limbs are numbing, Fevered brows are drumming, drumming— Are the stretchers never coming? Are we numbered with the slain?
God in Heaven, canst Thou hear us? Mary Mother! Dost Thou fear us? Stretcher-bearers, are you near us? Give us water or we die! But a grisly shadow's creeping With his cruel scythe a-reaping Weary souls which fall to sleeping In a choking, croaking sigh.
# More songs by the fighting men. Soldiers poets: second series/Eric Fitzwalter Wilkinson, M.C.

ERIC FITZWALTER WILKINSON
M.C., Capt., West Yorkshires, B.E.F., France
(Killed in Action, October 9, 1917)
To a Choir of Birds
GREEN are the trees, and green the summer grass, Beneath the sun, the tinest leaf hangs still: The flowers in languor droop, and tired men pass All somnolent, while death whines loud and shrill. O fine, full-throated choir invisible, Whose sudden burst of rapture fills the ear! Are ye insensible to mortal fear, That such a stream of melody ye spill, While murk of battle drifts on Auber's hill, And mankind dreams of slaughter? What wild glee Has filled your throbbing throats with sound, until Its strains are poured from every bush and tree, And sad hearts swell with hope, and fierce eyes fill? The world is stark with blood and hate—but ye— Sing on! Sing on! in careless ecstasy.
# More songs by the fighting men. Soldiers poets: second series/D. T. Jones

D. T. JONES
2nd Lieut., M.G.C., France
Flint
STAND in a hall, where carvèd men Make love to thee and win thy heart. And when thou kissest, cling for aye: For of their band, thou art.
To a Warship
PROUD monster, swung in the bosom of the prouder deep, I hear thy song, that hustles down the corridors of Time; Is doom exultant in its strains—or is it peace?
Cast forth thy iron soul upon the seas—and break This cruel Inquisition of To-day.
What wilt thou sing? What story wilt thou tell? Where dwells thy fate—in Heaven or in Hell?
B.E.F., France, August 16, 1917.
# More songs by the fighting men. Soldiers poets: second series/Eric Chilman

ERIC CHILMAN
Private, East Yorks
After-days
WHEN the last gun has long withheld Its thunder, and its mouth is sealed, Strong men shall drive the furrow straight On some remembered battlefield.
Untroubled they shall hear the loud And gusty driving of the rains, And birds with immemorial voice Sing as of old in leafy lanes.
The stricken, tainted soil shall be Again a flowery paradise— Pure with the memory of the dead And purer for their sacrifice.
# More songs by the fighting men. Soldiers poets: second series/Eric De Banzie

ERIC DE BANZIE
Sapper, R.E.
The Gift
"OH, I have known the dreams of youth . . . then what The dead, long, useless years gave promise of; Remnants I'll humbly gift thee—all I've got, Which thy sweet thanks shall be the solace of." Thus spake a restless mind all out of tune With souls and thoughts the world could offer him. . . . Thou know'st he thanked Thee, God, for War's grand boon— The end, the glory, England proffered him. The sorrow of his going matters not; Only the fierce high glow that in his heart Lit up those remnants that a rifle shot Filched from an England who was grieved to part. Alway, the nobleness that England gives Rescinds her royal gift—so England lives!
France.
# Morrison v. Work

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
266 U.S. 481
Morrison v. Work
Argued: Oct. 24, 1924. --- Decided: Jan 5, 1925
Mr. Webster Ballinger, of Washington, D. C., for appellant.
The Attorney General and Mr. Harry L. Underwood, of Washington, D. C., for appellees.
Mr. Justice BRANDEIS delivered the opinion of the Court.

## 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
# Morrissey v. Commissioner of Internal Revenue

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
296 U.S. 344
Morrissey v. Commissioner of Internal Revenue
Argued: Oct. 18, 1935. --- Decided: Dec 16, 1935
[Syllabus from pages 344-346 intentionally omitted]
Mr. Theodore B. Benson, of Washington, D.C., for petitioners.
The Attorney General and James W. Morris, Asst. Atty. Gen., of Washington, D.C., for respondent.
Mr. Chief Justice HUGHES delivered the opinion of the Court.

## 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
# Morrissey v. Perry

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
137 U.S. 157
Morrissey v. Perry
Henry W. Putnam, for appellant.
Sol. Gen. Taft, for appellee.
BREWER, J.

## 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
# Natural History, Reptiles/Enoplia

SUB-CLASS I. ENOPLIA.
(Mailed Reptiles.)
The Mailed or true Reptiles are principally distinguished by having the body encased in a series of plates of various degrees of hardness, sometimes imbedded, like stones in a pavement, into compact shields, at others forming overlapping scales, and yet again constituting a granular or tuberculous shagreen. In many particulars their anatomical organization is of a higher grade than that of the Amphibia; they have perfect ribs; and the occipital condyle, or joint by which the skull is connected with the spinal column, is single. They are subject to no metamorphosis, but are evolved from the egg in the form of the parents: gills (branchiæ) are never present in any stage, but respiration is performed entirely by means of lungs. The economy of. reproduction partakes of the characters of that of Mammalia and Birds, and not that of Fishes; the eggs are always furnished with a calcareous covering, either shelly or coriaceous in texture.
The Enoplia are divided into four Orders, founded on diversities of form, the presence or absence of limbs, and the character of the mailed covering. These are named Testudinata, Loricata, Sauria, and Ophidia.
# Motif-Index of Folk-Literature/Volume 1/A/1400

A1400—A1499. Acquisition of culture.
# Motif-Index of Folk-Literature/Volume 1/A/1600

A1600—A1699. Distribution and differentiation of peoples.
# Motif-Index of Folk-Literature/Volume 1/A/1800

A1800—A1899. Creation of mammals.
A1810—A1839. CREATION OF CARNIVORA
# Motif-Index of Folk-Literature/Volume 1/A/1200

A1200—A1699. CREATION AND ORDERING OF HUMAN LIFE
A1200—A1299. Creation of man.
# Motif-Index of Folk-Literature/Volume 1/A/1000

A1000—A1099. World calamities and renewals.
# Motif-Index of Folk-Literature/Volume 1/A/1100

A1100—A1199. Establishment of natural order.
# Motif-Index of Folk-Literature/Volume 1/A/1300

A1300—A1399. Ordering of human life.
# Motif-Index of Folk-Literature/Volume 1/A/1500

A1500—A1599. Origin of customs.
# Motif-Index of Folk-Literature/Volume 1/A/1700

A1700—A2199. CREATION OF ANIMAL LIFE
A1700—A1799. Creation of animal life — general.
# Motif-Index of Folk-Literature/Volume 1/A/100

A100—A499. GODS
A100—A199. The gods in general.
# Mr. Punch's History of the Great War

M$^{r.}$ PUNCH'S HISTORY OF THE GREAT WAR
PEACE—THE SOWER
M$^{r.}$ PUNCH'S HISTORY OF THE GREAT WAR
New York FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY Publishers
Published by arrangement with the Proprietors of "Punch."
TO THE READER
For whatsoever worth or wit appears In this mixed record of five hectic years, This tale of heroes, heroines—and others— Thank first "O. S." and then his band of brothers Who took their cue, with pencil and with pen, From the gay courage of our fighting men. Theirs be the praise, not his, who here supplies Merely the editorial hooks and eyes And, rich by proxy, prodigally spends The largess of his colleagues and his friends.
C. L. G.
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 1944, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 79 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
# Mr. Rabbit nibbles up the Butter

One of Harris's Uncle Remus stories about Brer Rabbit.
* "Mr. Rabbit nibbles up the Butter" in Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Sayings by Joel Chandler Harris (1886).
* "Brer Rabbit and the Butter" in Pieces People Ask For (ed.) by George Melville Baker (1909).
# Mr. Rogers' Joke

Norfolk Ledger-Dispatch, April 3, 1909
Norfolk's distinguished guest, Mr. Henry H. Rogers, pleased the large company who were yesterday evening entertaining him at a reception at the rooms of the Board of Trade and Business Men's Association by a display of oratorical gifts which he has heretofore never been suspected of possessing.
Incidentally, he incurred a debt which it is safe to say bears interest and is likely to be paid shortly by Mr. Rogers' great friend, Dr. Samuel L. Clemens.
At the conclusion of the reception Dr. Clemens got up on a perch or raised dais of some sort in response to irresistible demands for a speech and made a very felicitous one, in which he said he had been greatly complimented by innumerable people who have since he came here called him "Mr. Rogers," mistaking him for the great financier and railway builder. This talk was punctured at short intervals by tumultuous applause.
When Dr. Clemens finished speaking there were insistent calls for a speech from Mr. Rogers. To the great surprise of many, the great capitalist arose, and in the clear and resonant voice of an orator of great power, and with the grace of such an one, said that his business is the building of railroads; that he employs the ablest men he can secure to build them, and when they are finished he employs orators to tell about them. Then he pointed at "Mark Twain" and said that he was one of those. Tremendous applause followed this clever sally. Then Mr. Rogers explained that "Mark" was his friend, with whom he occasionally took liberties, thus unmistakably indicating that was a joke of no mean ability.
The reception to Mr. Rogers and his party at the Board of Trade was an enthusiastic success, and gave the representative business men an opportunity to become acquainted with the owners of the Virginian railroad, whose coming means so much to this section.
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
# New poems and variant readings/Duddingstone

DUDDINGSTONE
With caws and chirrupings, the woods In this thin sun rejoice. The Psalm seems but the little kirk That sings with its own voice.
​The cloud-rifts share their amber light With the surface of the mere— I think the very stones are glad To feel each other near.
Once more my whole heart leaps and swells And gushes o'er with glee; The fingers of the sun and shade Touch music stops in me.
Now fancy paints that bygone day When you were here, my fair— The whole lake rang with rapid skates In the windless winter air.
You leaned to me, I leaned to you, Our course was smooth as flight— We steered—a heel-touch to the left, A heel-touch to the right.
We swung our way through flying men, Your hand lay fast in mine: We saw the shifting crowd dispart, The level ice-reach shine.
I swear by yon swan-travelled lake, By yon calm hill above, I swear had we been drowned that day We had been drowned in love.
# New poems and variant readings/Farewell

FAREWELL
Farewell, and when forth I through the Golden Gates to Golden Isles Steer without smiling, through the sea of smiles, Isle upon isle, in the seas of the south, Isle upon island, sea upon sea, Why should I sail, why should the breeze? I have been young, and I have counted friends. A hopeless sail I spread, too late, too late. Why should I from isle to isle Sail, a hopeless sailor?
# New poems and variant readings/Epitaphium Erotii

EPITAPHIUM EROTII
Here lies Erotion, whom at six years old Fate pilfered. Stranger (when I too am cold, Who shall succeed me in my rural field), To this small spirit annual honours yield! Bright be thy hearth, hale be thy babes, I crave And this, in thy green farm, the only grave.
# New poems and variant readings/For Richmond's Garden Wall

FOR RICHMOND'S GARDEN WALL
When Thomas set this tablet here, Time laughed at the vain chanticleer; And ere the moss had dimmed the stone, Time had defaced that garrison. Now I in turn keep watch and ward In my red house, in my walled yard Of sunflowers, sitting here at ease With friends and my bright canvases. But hark, and you may hear quite plain Time's chuckled laughter in the lane.
# New poems and variant readings/Early in the morning I hear on your piano

EARLY IN THE MORNING I HEAR ON YOUR PIANO
Early in the morning I hear on your piano You (at least, I guess it's you) proceed to learn to play. Mostly little minds should take and tackle their piano While the birds are singing in the morning of the day.
# New poems and variant readings/Fixed is the doom

FIXED IS THE DOOM
Fixed is the doom; and to the last of years Teacher and taught, friend, lover, parent, child, Each walks, though near, yet separate; each beholds His dear ones shine beyond him like the stars. We also, love, forever dwell apart; With cries approach, with cries behold the gulph, The Unvaulted; as two great eagles that do wheel in air Above a mountain, and with screams confer, Far heard athwart the cedars. Yet the years Shall bring us ever nearer; day by day Endearing, week by week, till death at last Dissolve that long divorce. By faith we love, Not knowledge; and by faith, though far removed, Dwell as in perfect nearness, heart to heart. We but excuse Those things we merely are; and to our souls A brave deception cherish. So from unhappy war a man returns ​Unfearing, or the seaman from the deep; So from cool night and woodlands to a feast May someone enter, and still breathe of dews, And in her eyes still wear the dusky night.
# New poems and variant readings/Flower god, god of the spring

FLOWER GOD, GOD OF THE SPRING
Flower god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful, Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles, Here I wander in April Cold, grey-headed; and still to my Heart, Spring comes with a bound, Spring the deliverer, Spring, song-leader in woods, chorally resonant; Spring, flower-planter in meadows, Child-conductor in willowy Fields deep dotted with bloom, daisies and crocuses: Here that child from his heart drinks of eternity: O child, happy are children! She still smiles on their innocence, She, dear mother in God, fostering violets, Fills earth full of her scents, voices and violins: ​Thus one cunning in music Wakes old chords in the memory: Thus fair earth in the Spring leads her performances. One more touch of the bow, smell of the virginal Green—one more, and my bosom Feels new life with an ecstasy.
# New poems and variant readings/Envoy for "A Child's Garden of Verses"

ENVOY FOR "A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES"
Whether upon the garden seat You lounge with your uplifted feet Under the May's whole Heaven of blue; Or whether on the sofa you, No grown up person being by, Do some soft corner occupy; Take you this volume in your hands And enter into other lands, For lo! (as children feign) suppose You, hunting in the garden rows, Or in the lumbered attic, or The cellar—a nail-studded door And dark, descending stairway found That led to kingdoms underground: There standing, you should hear with ease Strange birds a-singing, or the trees Swing in big robber woods, or bells On many fairy citadels: ​There passing through (a step or so— Neither mamma nor nurse need know!) From your nice nurseries you would pass, Like Alice through the Looking-Glass Or Gerda following Little Ray, To wondrous countries far away. Well, and just so this volume can Transport each little maid or man Presto from where they live away Where other children used to play. As from the house your mother sees You playing round the garden trees, So you may see if you but look Through the windows of this book Another child far, far away And in another garden play. But do not think you can at all, By knocking on the window, call That child to hear you. He intent Is still on his play-business bent. He does not hear, he will not look, Nor yet be lured out of this book. P'or long ago, the truth to say, He has grown up and gone away; And it is but a child of air That lingers in the garden there.
# New poems and variant readings/Fair Isle at Sea

FAIR ISLE AT SEA
Fair Isle at Sea—thy lovely name Soft in my ear like music came. That sea I loved, and once or twice I touched at isles of Paradise.