OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Peter Bell/Sonnets

SONNETS,
SUGGESTED BY
Mr. W. WESTALL'S VIEWS OF THE CAVES, &c.
IN YORKSHIRE.
The following Sonnets having lately appeared in Periodical Publications are here reprinted.
SONNETS.
I.
Pure element of waters! wheresoe'er Thou dost forsake thy subterranean haunts, Green herbs, bright flowers, and berry-bearing plants, —Rise into life and in thy train appear: And, through the sunny portion of the year, Swift insects shine, thy hovering pursuivants; And, if thy bounty fail, the forest pants; And hart and hind and hunter with his spear, Languish and droop together. Nor unfelt In man's perturbed soul thy sway benign; And, haply, far within the marble belt Of central earth, where tortured Spirits pine For grace and goodness lost, thy murmurs melt Their anguish,—and they blend sweet songs with thine!
II.
GORDALE.
At early dawn,—or rather when the air Glimmers with fading light, and shadowy eve Is busiest to confer and to bereave,— Then, pensive votary, let thy feet repair To Gordale-chasm, terrific as the lair WTiere the young lions couch;—for so, by leave Of the propitious hour, thou may'st perceive The local Deity, with oozy hair And mineral crown, beside his jagged urn Recumbent:—Him thou may'st behold, who hides His lineaments by day, and there presides, Teaching the docile waters how to turn; Or, if need be, impediment to spurn, And force their passage to the salt-sea tides!
III.
MALHAM COVE.
Was the aim frustrated by force or guile, When giants scoop'd from out the rocky ground —Tier under tier—this semicirque profound? (Giants—the same who built in Erin's isle That Causeway with incomparable toil!) O, had this vast theatric structure wound With finish'd sweep into a perfect round, No mightier work had gain'd the plausive smile Of all-beholding Phoebus! But, alas, Vain earth!—false world! Foundations must be laid In Heav'n; for, mid the wreck of is and was, Things incomplete and purposes betrayed Make sadder transits o'er truth's mystic glass Than noblest objects utterly decayed.
COMPOSED DURING ONE OF THE MOST AWFUL OF THE LATE STORMS, FEB. 1819.
One who was suffering tumult in his soul Yet fail'd to seek the sure relief of prayer— Went forth—his course surrendering to the care Of the fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prowl Insidiously—untimely thunders growl,— While trees, dim-seen, in frenzied numbers tear The lingering remnant of their yellow hair,— And shivering wolves, surpris'd with darkness, howl As if the sun were not;—he lifted high His head—and in a moment did appear Large space, mid dreadful clouds, of purest sky, An azure orb—shield of Tranquillity, Invisible unlook'd-for minister Of providential goodness ever nigh!
THE END.
Printed by Strahan and Spottiswoode, Printers-Street, London.
# Poems (Baldwyn)/The Mimosa Tree

THE MIMOSA TREE.
TO MY COUSIN HARRIET.
Scott's Poems.
# Poems (Barbara White)

POEMS
By MRS. BARBARA WHITE Johnstown, Pa.
* Save Our Flag From Falling
* America's Glory
* For Victory We Stand
* Go For the Glo in Old Glory
* Uncle Sammie's Soldiers
* To the Boys O'er in France Honor Give
* Just What I Would Have Done
* Only One Boy to Give
* From Berlin to Berlin, I'm On My Way
* Some Mother's Boy, or Remember the Tuscania
* Our Heroes
* The Grand Old Fleet of England
* Our Boys and Girls
* Only Some Violets and Roses
* Though Crushed Like a Lilly and Broken
* It's a Long Way to Bonnie Scotland
* The Lonesome Scot
* Childhood Days
* As I'm Thinking Dear Old Scotland of You
* He's Neither Braw Nor Bonnie
* Chewing Gum
* Our Dog Donald
* Our Pet Dog and Cat
* Six Cents, Please
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
# Paradise Lost (1674)/The Verse

THE measure is English Heroic Verse without Rime as that of Homer in Greek, and of Virgil in Latin; Rime being no necessary Adjunct or true Ornament of Poem or good Verse, in longer Works especially, but the Invention of a barbarous Age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meeter; grac't indeed since by the use of some famous modern Poets, carried away by Custom, but much to thir own vexation, hindrance, and constraint to express many things otherwise, and for the most part worse then else they would have exprest them. Not without cause therefore some both Italian and Spanish Poets of prime note have rejected Rime both in longer and shorter Works, as have also long since our best English Tragedies, as a thing of it self, to all judicious eares, triveal and of no true musical delight: which consists only in apt Numbers, fit quantity of Syllables, and the sense variously drawn out from one Verse into another, not in the jingling sound of like endings, a fault avoyded by the learned Ancients both in Poetry and all good Oratory. This neglect then of Rime so little is to be taken for a defect though it may seem so perhaps to vulgar Readers, that it rather is to be esteem'd an example set, the first in English, of ancient liberty recover'd to Heroic Poem from the troublesom and modern bondage of Rimeing.
# Paradise Lost (1890)

An 1890 reprint.
Paradise Lost
By John Milton
In Twelve Books
printed
and bound by
DONOHUE &
HENNEBERRY
CHICAGO
* Book 1
* Book 2
* Book 3
* Book 4
* Book 5
* Book 6
* Book 7
* Book 8
* Book 9
* Book 10
* Book 11
* Book 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
# Peter and Wendy

* Peter and Wendy, (1911) by J. M. Barrie
* Peter and Wendy - Margaret Ogilvy, (1912) by J. M. Barrie

## See also

* Peter Pan; or, the Boy Who Would Not Grow Up, (1928) by J. M. Barrie
* When Wendy Grew Up, (1908) by J. M. Barrie
* The Story of Peter Pan, (1915) by Daniel Stephen O'Connor
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Sappho

SAPPHO
AS a wan weaver in an attic dim, Hopeless yet patient, so he may be fed With scanty store of sorrow-seasoned bread, Heareth a blithe bird carol over him; And sees no longer walls and rafters grim, But rural lanes where little feet are led, Through springing flowers, fields with clover spread, Clouds, swan-like, that o'er depths of azure swim;—
So when upon our earth-dulled ear new breaks Some fragment, Sappho, of thy skyey song, A noble wonder in our souls awakes;
The deathless Beautiful draws strangely nigh, And we look up, and marvel how so long We were content to toil for sordid joys that die.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Secure

SECURE
OUR single lives are circled round By an embracing sea; Are joined to all that has been, bound To all that is to be; The past and future meet and cross, And in life's ocean is no loss.
We know there is no loss—and yet— Dismayed, perplexed,—poor dupes of time— We see youth stricken ere its prime, And in our grief forget. But pitying Nature takes our part: Slowly she heals the breaking heart,
And Sorrow's self procures us gain; For in her steps ascending higher, We come, at last, where waits nor pain Nor unfulfilled desire,— Finding the path lit from above That leads from love—to Love!
​Nothing is premature with God: His are the harvest-time and sowing, The seedling nestled in the sod, The flower in beauty blowing, The languid ebb, the eager flow, The pulse of spring, the brooding snow.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Self-confident Youth

SELF-CONFIDENT YOUTH
THE earth is mine and its myriad flowers, And the stars are mine: I shall count them all; As I hasten on with expanding powers, No cloud-capped peak shall my strength appal.
I will measure my might 'gainst the might of Ocean, In ships of my building, its wastes will dare; I will learn of the swallow its swift-winged motion, And ride as it rides, through the fields of Air! . . .
I marvel my fathers have been contented To live and to labor in ways time-worn: That to Fate's denials they e'er consented, Solaced by trifles my soul would scorn!
For the tired old world I will write a story That none of her children has told before: A tale of adventure and love, whose glory Shall glow in her annals forevermore.
​To the depths, to the heights I am called to inherit, I will climb, will descend, without fear of fall, In the perilous joy of a dauntless spirit That nothing shall have—if it have not All!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Song : "The New-Born Leaves Unfolding Fast"

SONG
THE new-born leaves unfolding fast Make nests of green on every bough; The pilgrim birds, their wanderings past, With joy return,—but thou, my love, Oh, where, my love, art thou?
Soft tumults fill the balmy air, Faint breathings of the flowers to be; Life glows and gladdens everywhere,— But I am lone for thee, my love, Oh, lone, my love, for thee!
Give me the voice of moaning pines, The frozen wold, the desert space; Give me the winter Earth resigns,— But let me see thy face, my love, Oh, let me see thy face!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Romance

ROMANCE
HOW fair you are, wondrous maiden, As from the aisle I behold you In the old English cathedral, Standing so rapt and apart!
Glintings of gold from the stained glass Brighten the coils of your dark hair Waving away from a forehead Pure with the freshness of youth,
And your face flower-like lifted, With the blue eyes full of worship, Fairer you seem than the angels Carved near the altar, in stone.
What though I know not your name, dear,— Though I to-day first behold you— You who must pass as a vision Nobly enthralling and glad?
Does he who, lone in the forest, Finds there an exquisite blossom, ​Joy in it less that its beauty Blooms not to fade on his breast?
Nay: nor does one who at nightfall Harkens the voice of the mavis Feel less delight that the singer Blesses him, high out of reach.
So, though you pass—and for ever, Yet I, afar, shall remember That the world holds such a maiden, And, you remembering, love!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Socrates

SOCRATES
HE raised the hemlock to his lips, He drained the fatal draught, Calmly conversing with his friends, As he a wine had quaffed; And, ah! what wine so rich to bless? The torch of day grown dim, Death's cup has less of bitterness For all, because of him!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Song : "Sweet is the Birth of Love"

SONG
SWEET IS THE BIRTH OF LOVE
SWEET is the birth of love, and the awaking, The bashful dream, the faltering desire, The vision fair—of all fair things partaking— The wonder, the communicable fire: Sweet is the need to give and to obtain,— And sweet love's pain!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Sleep

SLEEP
To "the Child in us that trembles before death."—Plato.
SAY, hast thou never been compelled to lie Wakeful in Night's impenetrable deep, Counting the laggard moments that so creep Reluctant onward; till, with voiceless cry Enduring, thou hadst willing been to fly From Life itself, and in oblivion steep Thy tortured senses? To such longed-for sleep Death is a way; and dost thou fear to die?
Nay, were it this, just this, and naught beside— Merely the calm that we have anguished for, The wayfarer might still be glad to hide From grief and suffering!—but how much more Is Death—Life's servitor and friend—the guide That safely ferries us from shore to shore!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/So You Love Me

SO YOU LOVE ME
SO you love me, have no care; Mine will be the strength to dare Perils that without your love Greater than my strength might prove. Never any knight who had Felt your touch an accolade, But had grown more brave, more true, Sweetheart! sweetheart!— Loved by you.
In your chalice, my one rose, All earth's fragrance you enclose; Through your light, my one, one star, Heaven draws me from afar. Easy were it to lay down All things save your love,—my crown, And, in dying, life renew, Sweetheart! sweetheart!— Loved by you.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Song : "If Love Were But a Little Thing"

SONG
IF love were but a little thing, Strange love, which, more than all, is great— One might not such devotion bring, Early to serve and late.
If love were but a passing breath— Wild love—which, as God knows, is sweet— One might not make of life and death A pillow for love's feet.
# Parsons v. Chesapeake & Ohio Railway Company

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
375 U.S. 71
Parsons v. Chesapeake & Ohio Railway Company
Argued: Oct. 23, 1963. --- Decided: Nov 12, 1963
John J. Naughton, Chicago, Ill., for petitioner.
Charles J. O'Laughlin, Chicago, Ill., for respondent.
PER CURIAM.

## Notes

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

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
379 U.S. 359
Parsons v. Buckley
Charles E. Gibson, Jr., Atty. Gen. of Vermont, and Chester S. Ketcham, Deputy Atty. Gen., for Hoff and others.
Joseph A. McNamara, for appellees.
George D. Webster, for Parsons and others.
PER CURIAM.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# One of the ones that Midas touched

* "The Oriole" in Poems: Second Series (1891)
* "One of the ones that Midas touched" in The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson (1924)
# One thing of it we borrow

One thing of it we borrow And promise to return — The Booty and the Sorrow Its Sweetness to have known — One thing of it we covet — The power to forget — The Anguish of the Avarice Defrays the Dross of it —
# One pause upon the brink of life

As rendered in Brontë Poems: Selections from the poetry of Charlotte, Emily, Anne and Branwell Brontë (1915)
116
ONE pause upon the brink of life, Before it breaks, in headlong strife, Upon its downward road; One insight through the waters clear, Before their pictures disappear In the fierce foaming flood.
# Poems (Cromwell)

POEMS
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO
POEMS
BY GLADYS CROMWELL
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY PADRAIC COLUM
New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1919 All rights reserved
Copyright, 1919 BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Set up aud electrotyped. Published December, 1919.
​Thanks are due to the Editor of Poetry for courteous permission to reprint "The Fugitive," "The Crowning Gift," "Folded Power," "The Mould," "Autumn Communion" and "Star Song"; also to the Editor of The New Republic for "Winter Landscape" and "Words," and to the Sunwise Turn for "The Scientist."
INDEX OF TITLES
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
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
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/The Hun with the Gun

THE HUN WITH THE GUN
Permission of the author
TO THE KAISER
This is the Thing you have made him— A Brute taught to handle a gun; Bred like a draft ox for muscle, Sir'd by Attila, the Hun.
Trained by the gad to obedience, To gee and to haw—stop and go; Robbed of the God-right to reason, On driven, blow upon blow.
Taught the vile trick'ry of warfare, To glory in rapine and might, That Christ was all wrong in His Teachings, That Treitschke and Neitzsche are right.
King, fear you not that this Terror, Blood-maddened, may turn in his pain And rend you? For is it not written, "Who lives by the sword shall be slain"?
—Will P. Snyder
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/The Miscreant

THE MISCREANT
By permission of the author
It was a slender Belgian lad, A child to make a father glad, Negligent, he stood beside The highway, stretching white and wide; Thence had come but yesterday The Uhlans riding on their way; And now was heard, in steady beat, A rising sound of marching feet. They came, a mass of gray pulsating, Steady-moving, palpitating, On with unrelenting tread: Spiked the helmet on each head, Straight each gun, each eye, each stride, Each belt, each knapsack coincide, A bayonet rattled at each side.
The word rang, "Halt," and at the sound The rifle butts thud on the ground. "Come here, my boy," the Captain cried, "Last night, a certain Belgian died; And why, would'st know? that Belgian lied. Now, tell me, thou, and tell me true— Lest such a fate befall thee, too— Look squarely at me, hold thee still: Lie Belgian troops on yonder hill?" The boy nor flinched nor caught his breath, ​He knew a glorious lie meant death, But looked the Captain in the eye And said, "Nay, none are there, or nigh." The conclusion of my story Comes from a letter amatory, Which one Fritz, in school-boy hand, Wrote Gretchen in the Fatherland.
"Wouldst believe it, Gretchen, that boy lied; The little traitor! he defied Our Kaiser and the German race! Dear me! that thoughts so black and base Should harbor in so sweet a face!"
And then Fritz told in close detail, With many an expletive and wail, How his company was mauled By Belgian guns. What else he scrawled, I spare the reader, both his fight And courtship. He concludes:
"That night We stood that boy against a wall,— It was a church, as I recall. He would not let us bind his eyes Or tie his hands. We looked for cries, For tears and pleadings for reprieve; But not a word said he, save 'Vive La Belgique!' Now could mind conceive ​Act more un-German! Could one believe Such guilt to Kaiser and to God! 'Twas I, dear, led the shooting squad. We fired—we all are steady-eyed— And so the little miscreant died."
Thus wrote Fritz, in school-boy hand, To Gretchen in the Fatherland. If such be miscreants, what would I, Or thou do, so to live, so die?
As for Fritz, there is no pother; That precious piece of "cannon-fodder" Was shot while looting with red hand: And Gretchen weeps in the Fatherland.
—Dr. Felix E. Schelling
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/The Kid Has Gone to the Colors

THE KID HAS GONE TO THE COLORS
By permission of the author
The Kid has gone to the Colors, And we don't know what to say; The Kid we have loved and cuddled Stepped out for the flag to-day. We thought him a child, a baby, With never a care at all; But his country called him man-size— And the Kid has heard the call.
He paused to watch the recruiting, Where, fired by the fife and drum, He bowed his head to Old Glory, And thought that it whispered "Come!" The Kid not being a slacker, Stood forth with patriot-joy To add his name to the roster And, God! we're proud of the boy!
The Kid has gone to the Colors; It seems but a little while Since he drilled a schoolboy army In a truly martial style. But now he's a man, a soldier, And we lend him a listening ear; For his heart is a heart all loyal, Unscourged by the curse of fear.
​His dad, when he told him, shuddered; His mother—God bless her!—cried; Yet, blest with a mother-nature She wept with a mother-pride. But he whose old shoulders straightened Was granddad—for memory ran To years when he, too, a youngster, Was changed by the Flag to a man!
—William Herschell
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/The Little One-Star Flag

THE LITTLE ONE-STAR FLAG
By permission of the author
Oh, I used to hear the family In the house across the way— A father, and a mother, and a child. And, oh, the noise they used to make; They'd keep the neighborhood awake— I sometimes used to think they'd drive me wild! I glanced across the way the other day; It seemed too quiet over there, by far. And hanging in the window of the house across the way Is a little flag which bears a single star!
There's a Service Flag in Broadway, And it flaunts two thousand stars. Oh, it swings there to the glory Of the soldiers and the tars. But no star there in its beauty Tells of stronger Love and Duty Than the little one-star flag across the way.
Oh, I used to see them waiting In the house across the way— The mother, and a little girl, so sweet. And, oh, the way they used to shout; And, oh, the way they'd hurry out When they saw Daddy coming up the street. ​Now I miss the noise they made there as they played; It seems too quiet over there by far— Oh, they're watching from the window of the house across the way By the little flag that bears a single star!
There's a Wonder Flag in Wall Street, Flying from a dizzy height, Like a gorgeous patch of heaven That was ripped from starry night. But no star there in its beauty Tells of stronger Love and Duty Than the little one-star flag across the way!
—Damon Runyon
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/The Mother on the Sidewalk

THE MOTHER ON THE SIDEWALK
By permission of the author and the publishers, Reilly & Britton, Chicago
The mother on the sidewalk as the troops are marching by Is the mother of Old Glory that is waving in the sky. Men have fought to keep it splendid, men have died to keep it bright, But that flag was born of woman and her sufferings day and night; 'Tis her sacrifice has made it, and once more we ought to pray For the brave and loyal mother of the boys that go away. There are days of grief before her, there are hours that she will weep, There are nights of anxious waiting when her fears will banish sleep; She has heard her country calling and has risen to the test, She has placed upon the altar of the nation's need her best. And no man shall ever suffer in the turmoil of the fray The anguish of the mother of the boy who goes away. ​You may boast men's deeds of glory, you may tell their courage great, But to die is easier service than alone to sit and wait. And I hail the little mother, with the tear stained face and grave Who has given the Flag a soldier—she the bravest of the brave. And that banner we are proud of, with its red and blue and white, Is a lasting tribute holy to all mothers' love of right.
—Edgar A. Guest
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/The Ohio Men

THE OHIO MEN
Ohio of the grassland and the waving, billowy plain, Ohio of the rolling hills cloaked in the golden grain; Ohio, whose pure beauty now needs no poet's pen— Ohio sends to fight for God, her brave Ohio men.
They are marching, marching, marching from the grassland and the wheat, And down the cities, clicking, goes the tramp of myriad feet; Men are marching, marching, marching, for the good old State again— God bless them and God keep them, the good Ohio men!
Men march from out Ohio as they marched from her before, To lay their good lives down for God out there at Freedom's war, To lay their yesterdays away and all that's sweetly been; And let us not forget them now, the good Ohio men!
​Their mother, Great America, now calls her sons to fight, And from Ohio comes the bugle like a cry from out the night; They are loyal, they are heroes, and they need no poet's pen— God bless them and protect them now, the brave Ohio men!
While all the world is bleeding, they will bear the torch of light; They will battle now for Liberty, for Justice, and for Right. And the old, old blood of heroes caught in the young, young sod Goes marching off across the world to fight for Peace and God.
They are marching, marching, marching from the grassland and the wheat, And down the cities, clicking, goes the tramp of myriad feet; Men are marching, marching, marching from the good old State again— God bless them and God keep them, the brave Ohio men!
—Edwin Curran