OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/Bay Combe

BAY COMBE
WITH leaves below and leaves above, And groping under tree and tree, I found the home of my true love, Who is a wandering home for me.
Who, lost in ruined worlds aloof, Bore the dread dove wings like a roof: Who, past the last lost stars of space Carried the fire-light on her face.
Who, passing as in idle hours, Tamed the wild weeds to garden flowers; Stroked the strange whirlwind's whirring wings, And made the comets homely things.
Where she went by upon her way The dark was dearer than the day; Where she paused in heaven or hell, The whole world's tale had ended well.
With leaves below and leaves above, And groping under tree and tree, I found the home of my true love, Who is a wandering home for me.
​Where she was flung, above, beneath, By the rude dance of life and death, Grow she at Gotham—die at Rome, Between the pine trees is her home.
In some strange town, some silver morn, She may have wandered to be born; Stopped at some motley crowd impressed, And called them kinsfolk for a jest.
If we again in goodness thrive, And the dead saints become alive, Then pedants bald and parchments brown May claim her blood for London town.
But leaves below and leaves above, And groping under tree and tree, I found the home of my true love, Who is a wandering home for me.
The great gravestone she may pass by, And without noticing, may die; The streets of silver Heaven may tread, With her grey awful eyes unfed.
The city of great peace in pain May pass, until she find again This little house of holm and fir God built before the stars for her.
​Here in the fallen leaves is furled Her secret centre of the world. We sit and feel in dusk and dun The stars swing round us like a sun.
For leaves below and leaves above, And groping under tree and tree, I found the home of my true love, Who is a wandering home for me.
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/Glencoe

GLENCOE
THE star-crowned cliffs seem hinged upon the sky, The clouds are floating rags across them curled, They open to us like the gates of God Cloven in the last great wall of all the world.
I looked, and saw the valley of my soul Where naked crests fight to achieve the skies, Where no grain grows nor wine, no fruitful thing, Only big words and starry blasphemies.
But you have clothed with mercy like a moss The barren violence of its primal wars, Sterile although they be and void of rule, You know my shapeless crags have loved the stars.
How shall I thank you, O courageous heart, That of this wasteful world you had no fear; But bade it blossom in clear faith and sent Your fair flower-feeding rivers: even as here
The peat burns brimming from their cups of stone Glow brown and blood-red down the vast decline As if Christ stood on yonder clouded peak And turned its thousand waters into wine.
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/Ballade d'une grande dame

BALLADE D'UNE GRANDE DAME
HEAVEN shall forgive you Bridge at dawn, The clothes you wear—or do not wear— And Ladies' Leap-frog on the lawn And dyes and drugs, and petits verres. Your vicious things shall melt in air . . . . . . But for the Virtuous Things you do, The Righteous Work, the Public Care, It shall not be forgiven you.
Because you could not even yawn When your Committees would prepare To have the teeth of paupers drawn, Or strip the slums of Human Hair; Because a Doctor Otto Maehr Spoke of "a segregated few"— And you sat smiling in your chair— It shall not be forgiven you.
Though your sins cried to—Father Vaughan, These desperate you could not spare Who steal, with nothing left to pawn; You caged a man up like a bear For ever in a jailor's care Because his sins were more than two . . . . . . I know a house in Hoxton where I t shall not be forgiven you.
ENVOI
Princess, you trapped a guileless Mayor
To meet some people that you knew . . . When the Last Trumpet rends the air
It shall not be forgiven you.
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/In Memoriam P. D.

IN MEMORIAM P. D.
NICE, JANUARY 30, 1914.
IF any in an island cradle curled Of comfort, may make offerings to you, Who in the day of all denial blew A bugle through the blackness of the world,
An English hand would touch your shroud, in trust That truth again be told in English speech, And we too yet may practise what we preach, Though it were practising the bayonet thrust.
Cutting that giant neck from sand to sand, From sea to sea; it was a little thing Beside your sudden shout and sabre-swing That cut the throat of thieves in every land.
Heed not if half-wits mock your broken blade: Mammon our master doeth all things ill. You are the Fool that charged a windmill. Still, The Miller is a Knave; and was afraid.
Lay down your sword. Ruin will know her own. Let each small statesman sow his weak wild oat, Or turn his coat to decorate his coat, Or take the throne and perish by the throne.
​Lay down your sword. And let the White Flag fade
To grey; and let the Red Flag fade to pink,
For these that climb and climb; and cannot sink
So deep as death and honour, Déroulède.
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/An Election Echo

AN ELECTION ECHO
1906
THIS is their trumpet ripe and rounded, They have burnt the wheat and gathered the chaff, And we that have fought them, we that have watched them, Have we at least not cause to laugh?
Never so low at least we stumbled— Dead we have been but not so dead As these that live on the life they squandered, As these that drink of the blood they shed.
We never boasted the thing we blundered, We never flaunted the thing that fails, We never quailed from the living laughter, To howl to the dead who tell no tales.
'Twas another finger at least that pointed Our wasted men or our emptied bags, It was not we that sounded the trumpet In front of the triumph of wrecks and rags.
​Fear not these, they have made their bargain, They have counted the cost of the last of raids, They have staked their lives on the things that live not, They have burnt their house for a fire that fades.
Five years ago and we might have feared them, Been drubbed by the coward and taught by the dunce; Truth may endure and be told and re-echoed, But a lie can never be young but once.
Five years ago and we might have feared them; Now, when they lift the laurelled brow, There shall naught go up from our hosts assembled But a laugh like thunder. We know them now.
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/Ballad of the Sun

BALLAD OF THE SUN
O WELL for him that loves the sun, That sees the heaven-race ridden or run, The splashing seas of sunset won, And shouts for victory.
God made the sun to crown his head, And when death's dart at last is sped, At least it will not find him dead, And pass the carrion by.
O ill for him that loves the sun j Shall the sun stoop for anyone? Shall the sun weep for hearts undone Or heavy souls that pray?
Not less for us and everyone Was that white web of splendour spun; O well for him who loves the sun Although the sun should slay.
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/Blessed are the Peacemakers

BLESSED ARE THE PEACEMAKERS
OF old with a divided heart I saw my people's pride expand, Since a man's soul is torn apart By mother earth and fatherland.
I knew, through many a tangled tale, Glory and truth not one but two: King, Constable, and Amirail Took me like trumpets: but I knew
A blacker thing than blood's own dye Weighed down great Hawkins on the sea; And Nelson turned his blindest eye On Naples and on liberty.
Therefore to you my thanks, O throne, O thousandfold and frozen folk, For whose cold frenzies all your own The Battle of the Rivers broke;
Who have no faith a man could mourn, Nor freedom any man desires; But in a new clean light of scorn Close up my quarrel with my sires;
​Who bring my English heart to me,
Who mend me like a broken toy;
Till I can see you fight and flee,
And laugh as if I were a boy.
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/Confessional

CONFESSIONAL
NOW that I kneel at the throne, O Queen, Pity and pardon me. Much have I striven to sing the same, Brother of beast and tree; Yet vhen the stars catch me alone Never a linnet sings— And the blood of a man is a bitter voice And cries for foolish things.
Not for me be the vaunt of woe; Was not I from a boy Vowed with the helmet and spear and spur To the blood-red banner of joy? A man may sing his psalms to a stone, Pour his blood for a weed, But the tears of a man are a sudden thing, And come not of his creed.
Nay, but the earth is kind to me, Though I cry for a star, Leaves and grasses, feather and flower, Cover the foolish scar, Prophets and saints and seraphim Lighten the load with song, And the heart of a man is a heavy load For a man to bear along.
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/Antichrist, or the Reunion of Christendom: An Ode

ANTICHRIST, OR THE REUNION OF CHRISTENDOM: AN ODE
"A BILL WHICH HAS SHOCKED THE CONSCIENCE OF EVERY CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY IN EUROPE."—Mr. F. E. Smith, ON THE WELSH DISESTABLISHMENT BILL.
ARE they clinging to their crosses, F. E. Smith, Where the Breton boat-fleet tosses, Are they, Smith? Do they, fasting, trembling, bleeding, Wait the news from this our city? Groaning "That's the Second Reading!" Hissing "There is still Committee!" If the voice of Cecil falters, If McKenna's point has pith, Do they tremble for their altars? Do they, Smith?
Russian peasants round their pope Huddled, Smith, Hear about it all, I hope, Don't they, Smith? In the mountain hamlets clothing Peaks beyond Caucasian pales, ​Where Establishment means nothing And they never heard of Wales, Do they read it all in Hansard— With a crib to read it with— "Welsh Tithes: Dr. Clifford answered." Really, Smith?
In the lands where Christians were, F. E. Smith, In the little lands laid bare, Smith, O Smith! Where the Turkish bands are busy And the Tory name is blessed Since they hailed the Cross of Dizzy On the banners from the West! Men don't think it half so hard if Islam burns their kin and kith, Since a curate lives in Cardiff Saved by Smith.
It would greatly, I must own, Soothe me, Smith, If you left this theme alone, Holy Smith! For your legal cause or civil You fight well and get your fee; For your God or dream or devil You will answer, not to me. ​Talk about the pews and steeples And the Cash that goes therewith! But the souls of Christian peoples . . . —Chuck it, Smith!
# Philippides v. Day

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
283 U.S. 48
Philippides v. Day
Argued: and Submitted March 2, 1931. --- Decided: March 23, 1931
Messrs. Thomas A. Kane, of New York City, and George C. Vournas, of Washington, D. C., for petitioner.
The Attorney General and Mr. Claude R. Branch, of Providence, R. I., for respondent.
Mr. Justice HOLMES 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
# Philip v. Nock/Opinion of the Court

* Court Documents
* Case Syllabus
* Opinion of the Court
United States Supreme Court
80 U.S. 185
Philip v. Nock
The patent law of February, 1861, gives to parties to suits arising under any law of the United States giving to inventors the exclusive right to their inventions or discoveries, a writ of error or appeal to the Supreme Court of the United States without regard to the sum in controversy. The act of 1870 does not alter the right of appeal or to a writ of error in this respect.
DENIED.

## 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
# Philippians (Bible)

Philippians is a book in the Bible.
English-language translations of Pros Philippesious include:
* Bible (Wycliffe)/Philippians (1380s)
* Bible (Tyndale)/Philippians (1526)
* Bible (King James)/Philippians (1611)
* Bible (American Standard)/Philippians (1901)
* Bible (World English)/Philippians (in progress since 1997)
* Bible (Wikisource)/Philippians (in progress since 2006)
* Bible (Literal Standard Version)/Philippians (2020)
# Philoctetes (Sophocles)

* related portals: Ancient Greek drama.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, Wikidata item.
Φιλοκτήτης (Philoktētēs, Latin: Philoctetes) is a tragedy by Sophocles and was first performed in 409 BCE. The play is set at the end of the Trojan War, and describes the attempt by Neoptolemus and Odysseus to bring the disabled Philoctetes, the master archer, with them to Troy. one or more editions are available in a spoken word format.
English-language translations of Φιλοκτήτης include:
* Philoctetes, translated by Theodore Alois Buckley (1849)
* Philoctetes, translated by E. H. Plumptre (1878)
* Philoctetes, translated by Lewis Campbell [1883] (1906)
* Philoctetes, translated by Richard Claverhouse Jebb [1904] (1917)
* Philoctetes, translated by Francis Storr (1919)
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago. Translations or editions published later may be copyrighted.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Philochristus/Postscript

POSTSCRIPT.
It had been my purpose, beloved brethren, to have continued this history from the year after the Lord Jesus suffered (in which year I left Syria and came to Alexandria) even to this present year, the tenth year after the destruction of the Holy City. Herein I was minded to have set forth how great things the Lord wrought for us in the Church of Alexandria, and the troubles that befell us there; even to the time of my going on the embassage unto Gaius Cæsar along with Philo the Alexandrine. Next it was my intent to have spoken of the Church of Rome, how it grew and prospered, and how in those days the Spirit of the Lord began to lead the saints towards wisdom in the governing and administering of the Church; lastly, the history would have told how I accompanied Julius Platitius the legate hither, even to Londinium, where now I write, where the Lord had prepared a work for me to do in building up the Church in Britain. For in this way methinks it might have been possible for you, my ​brethren, more clearly to discern how the Lord Jesus, though he be now in heaven, still guideth his Church upon earth.
Notwithstanding, because I am now stricken in years (being now fourscore and six years of age), and forasmuch as I know not whether I may have life to complete so great a work, it seemeth best (although I have in part already written these matters of my later life) first to make an end of this former history, especially considering the troubles now imminent in Britain from the barbarous people, and to defer the rest to a more convenient season.
Farewell.
# Philoctetes

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Philoctetes."
* 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.
* Philoctetes, a play by Sophocles. Multiple English translations exist.
* Philoctetes, a play by Tabley De, John Byron Leicester Warren, 3rd Lord (1866)
* “Philoctetes”, by Leonhard Schmitz in Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, 1870.
* "Philoctetes," in Encyclopædia Britannica (11th ed., 1911)
# Poems (Greenwell)/The Reconciler

PART SECOND.
THE RECONCILER.
"And I wept much, because no man was found worthy to open and to read the book, neither to look thereon. And one of the elders saith unto me, 'Weep not; behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, hath prevailed to open the book.'"
The Revelation of St. John.
# Poems (Greenwell)/The Marriage of True Minds

* ↑ The annals of the heart are rich and various, extending over a wide region, yet it would be hard, among all its written or traditionary wealth, to find a sweeter true-love story than that contained in the lyrical autobiography of Vieira, the Lusitaniayi, the famous painter and faithful husband. This poem, which was given to the world at the age of eighty-one, three years before the author's death, is so remarkable in all respects, as to have been considered by Southey the best book Portugal has to boast of. It is full of extraordinary incident, and celebrates the passion which, beginning before either of the lovers was eight years old, forms, in its mutual strength and constancy, at once the marvel and the glory of the two lives it bound together.—See on this subject an article in Blackwood's Magazine for March 1851, "The Fine Arts in Portugal."
* ↑ Tesouro imprisonado
# Poems (Dorr)/From Exile

Paris, September 3, 1879
# Poems (Dorr)/Four O'Clocks

AFTERNOON SONGS
# Poems (Dorr)/Friar Anselmo

FRIAR ANSELMO
AND
OTHER POEMS
# Poems (Dorr)/Four Letters

(INSCRIBED TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES)
# Poems (Allen)

OEMS
BY
ELIZABETH AKERS
(FLORENCE PERCY).
BOSTON:
TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
1866.
POEMS.
University Press: Welch, Bigelow & Co., Cambridge.
CONTENTS.
Page
* IOLET-PLANTING.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
* 3
* Snow.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
* 9
* November.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
* 11
* Among the Laurels.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
* 12
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
# Poems (Harper, 1898)

* related portals: Poetry, American literature.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
​Whereas thou hast been forsaken and hated, so that no man went through thee, I will make thee an eternal excellency, a joy of many generations—Isaiah 60 : 15.
1006 Bainbridge Street,
Philadelphia, Pa.
POEMS
BY
FRANCES E. W. HARPER
PHILADELPHIA:
1006 BAINBRIDGE STREET
1898
Copyrighted, 1895, by
FRANCES E. W. HARPER.
GEORGE & FERGUSON CO.,
PRINTERS AND ELECTROTYPERS.
CONTENTS.
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
# Poems (Blagden)

POEMS
POEMS
BY THE LATE
ISA BLAGDEN
WITH A MEMOIR
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS EDINBURGH AND LONDON MDCCCLXXIII
CONTENTS.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.
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
# Poems (Piatt)/Volume 1/Reproof to a Rose

SONGS.
# Poems (Piatt)/Volume 1/My Artist

* ↑ Line from a familiar child's poem in a school-book.
* ↑ "I stood on a tower in the wet, And Old Year and New Year met."—Tennyson.
# Poems (Sherwin)/Naked I came out

"Naked I came out of my Mother's Womb, and naked shall I return tither. the lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord."—Job, 1st chap. 21st verse.
# Poems (Sherwin)/Mortality

$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/A Marriage Song

A MARRIAGE SONG
WHY should we reck of hours that rend While we two ride together? The heavens rent from end to end Would be but windy weather, The strong stars shaken down in spate Would be a shower of spring, And we should list the trump of fate And hear a linnet sing.
We break the line with stroke and luck, The arrows run like rain, If you be struck, or I be struck, There's one to strike again. If you befriend, or I befriend, The strength is in us twain, And good things end and bad things end, And you and I remain.
Why should we reck of ill or well While we two ride together? The fires that over Sodom fell Would be but sultry weather. Beyond all ends to all men given Our race is far and fell, We shall but wash our feet in heaven, And warm our hands in hell.
​Battles unborn and vast shall view Our faltered standards stream, New friends shall come and frenzies new, New troubles toil and teem; New friends shall pass and still renew One truth that does not seem, That I am I, and you are you, And Death a morning dream.
Why should we reck of scorn or praise While we two ride together? The icy air of godless days Shall be but wintry weather. If hell were highest, if the heaven Were blue with devils blue, I should have guessed that all was even, If I had dreamed of you.
Little I reck of empty prides, Of creeds more cold than clay; To nobler ends and longer rides, My lady rides to-day. To swing our swords and take our sides In that all-ending fray When stars fall down and darkness hides, When God shall turn to bay.
Why should we reck of grin and groan While we two ride together? The triple thunders of the throne Would be but stormy weather. ​For us the last great fight shall roar, Upon the ultimate plains, And we shall turn and tell once more Our love in English lanes.