OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Planters' Cotton Oil Company of Waxahachie v. Hopkins/Opinion of the Court

* Court Documents
* Case Syllabus
* Opinion of the Court
United States Supreme Court
286 U.S. 332
Planters' Cotton Oil Company of Waxahachie v. Hopkins
Argued: April 20, 1932. --- Decided: May 16, 1932
Three corporations, Planters' Cotton Oil Co., Inc., Waxahachie, Planters' Cotton Oil Co., Inc., Ennis, and Farmers' Gins, Inc., were organized under the laws of Texas in August, and September, 1924. Two joint-stock associations, Planters' Cotton Oil Company, Waxahachie, and Planters' Cotton Oil Company, Ennis, which had been organized in earlier years, retained their separate existence. One man, H. N. Chapman, was the owner of 98 per cent. of the shares of the unincorporated associations. He caused the assets of those associations, or substantially all of them, to be transferred to the newly organized corporations, and received in return substantially all the shares of stock.
For the fiscal year ending June 30, 1925, the three corporations and the two jointstock associations filed a consolidated income tax return wherein the corporations, which had earned a net income of $147,636.25, claimed a deduction of $78,399.25 for loss suffered by the associations during the year preceding the affiliation. The deduction was disallowed, and suit was brought by the corporation and the associations for the refund of the tax to the extent of the overpayment claimed. The District Court dismissed the petition (47 F.(2d) 659); the Court of Appeals affirmed (53 F.(2d) 825); and by certiorari the case is here (285 U.S. 533, 52 S.C.t. 405, 76 L. Ed. -).
The controversy is ruled by our judgment in Woolford Realty Co., Inc. v. Rose, 286 U.S. 319, 52 S.C.t. 568, 76 L. Ed. -, unless the fact that in this case one shareholder, Chapman, was the owner of substantially all the shares of the five affiliated companies supplies an essential element of difference. We think it does not. Chapman was free, if he desired, to continue to do business in an unincorporated form. Preferring the privileges of corporate organization, he brought into being three corporations and did business through them. These corporations are not identical with the unincorporated associations to whose principal assets they have succeeded, and the losses of the associations suffered in an earlier year are not the losses of the corporations that came into existence afterwards.
The judgment is affirmed.

## 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
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/The Clouds

THE CLOUDS
THE clouds give back to earth again The moisture they absorb; An atom floating in the sun Is lasting as an orb.
We fear lest ill should fly itself, And wrong at last prevail: Lest good should lack its just reward And light untimely fail:
We falter, and distrust the fate We may not understand, Interrogate the oracle, When God is close at hand.
And still the clouds go drifting by, Or fall in fruitful rain; High over us the stars, undimmed, Benignant shine again;
And from that temple, viewless, vast, Where failure is unknown, The Father of existences Keeps watch above his own.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/The Ideal

THE IDEAL
"Not the treasures is it that have awakened in me so-unspeakable a desire, but the Blue Flower is what I long to behold."—Novalis.
SOMETHING I may not win attracts me ever,— Something elusive, yet supremely fair, Thrills me with gladness, but contents me never, Fills me with sadness, yet forbids despair.
It blossoms just beyond the paths I follow, It shines beyond the farthest stars I see, It echoes faint from ocean caverns hollow, And from the land of dreams it beckons me.
It calls, and all my best, with joyful feeling, Essays to reach it as I make reply; I feel its sweetness o'er my spirit stealing, Yet know ere I attain it I must die!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/The Irish Shamrock in South Africa

THE IRISH SHAMROCK IN SOUTH AFRICA
O LITTLE plant, so meek and slight, Tinct with the emerald of the sea Which like a mother, day and night, Croons melodies to thee; Emblem of Erin's hope and pride! Though crushed and trampled under foot, Thou still art found The meadows round, Up-springing from thine own sweet root!
Of sorrow thou hast been the sign Through weary, unforgiving years; The dews upon thy tender vine Have seemed thy country's tears; Now, now, forevermore, thou art Symbol of all that's brave and true— Blest as a smile Of thy sunlit isle, In the Old World honored, and the New!
​For they lie asleep in a land of strangers,— Far from the home their fame endears— The Inniskillings, the Connaught Rangers, The Dublin Fusiliers; And the little plant they loved so well— Better than fairest flower that blows— Is set apart In Britannia's heart With the Scottish thistle and the rose:
Is set apart, and never again Shall human eyes the shamrock see Without a thought of the heroes slain Whose splendid loyalty, Stronger than ancient hate or wrong, Sublimed them 'midst the battle's hell— A tidal wave From the souls of the brave, That made them deathless as they fell!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/The Empty House

THE EMPTY HOUSE
I SEEMED to see thy spirit leave the clay That was its mortal tenement of late; I seemed to see it falter at the gate Of the New Life, as seeking to obey Some inner law, yet doubtful of the way Provided for its passage, by that fate Which makes birth pain, and gives to death such state And dignity, when soul withdraws its sway.
A tremor of the pale and noble brow, A tightening of the lips, and thou wast gone— Gone?—whither? Ah, the hush of death's abyss! All tenantless thy beauteous form lay now As the cicada's fragile shell outgrown, Or as the long-forsaken, lonely chrysalis.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/The Hermit

THE HERMIT
LISTEN! O listen! 'T is the thrush—God bless him! How marvellously sweet the song he sings! All Nature seems to listen and caress him, And Silence even closer folds her wings Lest she should miss one faintly-throbbing note Of high-wrought rapture, from that flute-like throat.
The warbling world, itself, is hushed about him; No bird essays the amœbean strain: Each knows the soul of Music—full without him— Could bear no more, and rivalry were vain. So, Daphnis singing in the tamarisk shade, All things grew silent, of a sound afraid.
The aspens by the lake have ceased to shiver, As if the very zephyrs held their breath: Hearken how, wave on wave, with notes that quiver, It rises now—that song of life and death! "O holy! holy!" Was it Heaven that called My spirit, by love's ecstasy enthralled?
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/The Lark

THE LARK
THERE is a legend somewhere told Of how the skylark came of old To the dying Saviour's cross, And circling round that form of pain Poured forth a wild, lamenting strain, As if for human loss.
Pierced by those accents of despair, Upon the tiny mourner there Turning his fading eyes, The Saviour said, "Dost thou so mourn, And is thy fragile breast so torn, That man, thy brother, dies?
"O'er all the world uplifted high, We are alone here, thou and I; And near to heaven and thee I bless thy pity-guided wings! I bless thy voice—the last that sings Love's requiem for me!
"Sorrow no more shall fill thy song; These frail and fluttering wings grown strong, ​Thou shalt no longer fly Earth's captive—nay, but boldly dare The azure vault, and upward bear Thy transports to the sky!"
Soon passed the Saviour; but the lark, Close hovering near Him in the dark, Could not his grief abate; And nigh the watchers at the tomb, Still mourned through days of grief and gloom, With note disconsolate.
But when to those sad mourners came, In rose and amethyst and flame, The Dawn Miraculous, Song in which sorrow had no part Burst from the lark's triumphant heart— Sweet and tumultuous!
An instant, as with rapture blind, He faltered; then, his Lord to find, Straight to the ether flew,— Rising where falls no human tear, Singing where still his song we hear Piercing the upper blue!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/The Little Lass

THE LITTLE LASS
AN OLD-TIME DITTY
AS Douglas to his castle came, Emotion nerved his shatter'd frame, And soft he pondered,—"Presently My little lass will welcome me!
"As longs the miser for his gold, As fever longs, with thirst untold, So yearns my heart her face to see Who yonder waits to welcome me!"
But as he turned his steed about, A mournful peal of bells rung out; Whereat he cried,—"Nay, merrily! Ring forth my bairn to welcome me!"
He entered at the castle gate; (None marked him come, for it grew late,) He stood within his hall at last; (None noted him, for tears fell fast.)
​Quoth Douglas: "Friends, if me ye mourn, With drooping heads and looks forlorn, Now for your sorrows comfort ye,— And fetch my lass to welcome me!
"'T is true that I from out the wars Bring back a wound and many scars,— But life is mine, and I am free, And my brave lass hath ransom'd me!"
Up spoke an ancient servitor: "We mourn indeed the wrongs of war: We bless thy loved return,— but she No more shall rise to welcome thee!"
Sudden as falls the giant oak When smitten by the lightning stroke, So swoonèd Douglas to the ground, And bled afresh his healing wound.
They strove to stay life's ebbing tide, They chafed his hands, they swathed his side, But Donald wailed,—"Ah, woe is me!— Thy little lass hath welcomed thee!"
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/The Nest

THE NEST
GLAD is the grove with light, And the glen is song-caressed, But longing comes ere night For the one, dear nest!
Far fields may seem more fair, And distant hills more blue,— Still claims that nest my care In the dawn—in the dew;
For though the wild may woo My wing to many a quest, Sweet in the dawn and the dew Are home and rest!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/The Heart of Love

THE HEART OF LOVE
I KNOW a place warm-sheltered from the world— A place secure, in mild conditions blest, Where fainting Toil, the homespun banner furled, May pause awhile and rest: I know a place where fires burn late, And Mercy, waiting at the gate, Still welcomes the oppressed!
I know a shrine more rich than Plutus' fane. An altar fragrant with celestial dew, Where wavering souls their virgin faiths regain And energies renew. I know a garden fair and free, Where life yet wears, unfadingly, Lost Eden's roseate hue!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/The Lordly Pines

THE LORDLY PINES
THE lordly pines like grasses wave, And bend before the wind, Content to compromise with Fate, Security to find; But when the storm's full wrath is spent— Its futile passion o'er, The pines majestic lift their heads, As lordly as before!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/The Mirror

THE MIRROR
POET, why wilt thou wander far afield? Turn again home! There, also, Nature sings, And to thy heart, her magic-mirror, brings All images of life: thence will she yield Every emotion in Man's breast concealed: Love, hate, ambition,—hope, that heavenward wings,— The peasant's toil, the care that waits on kings,— All, in thy heart's clear crystal, full revealed.
Hast thou forgotten? One there was who turning His poet-vision inward, through the years, Found Falstaff's wit, and Prospero's high yearning, Shared Hamlet's doubt, the madness that was Lear's, Saw Wolsey's pride, and Romeo's passion, burning,— Knew Desdemona's truth, and felt her tears!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/The Morning Glory

THE MORNING GLORY
WAS it worth while to paint so fair Thy every leaf—to vein with faultless art Each petal, taking the boon light and air Of summer so to heart?
To bring thy beauty unto perfect flower, Then, like a passing fragrance or a smile, Vanish away, beyond recovery's power— Was it, frail bloom, worth while?
Thy silence answers: "Life was mine! And I, who pass without regret or grief, Have cared the more to make my moment fine, Because it was so brief.
"In its first radiance I have seen The sun!—why tarry then till comes the night? I go my way, content that I have been Part of the morning light!"
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/The Hospital

THE HOSPITAL
I
IN THE MATERNITY WARD
IS this the place? So still!—as with the hush That follows storm. Each on her narrow bed, they quiet lie— They who, so young, have been so near to die— Seeming of life but effigy and form.
How fair these girlish faces with closed eyes! Passion and strife Seem far from them. Are these beyond their reach? Nay, see!—high-cradled at the foot of each, A tender, new-born miracle of life!
On slippered feet the nurses to and fro Move noiselessly. A feeble cry!—a sigh half breathed in sleep! But who is this that vigil here doth keep— What presence of august benignity? ​O strangely moving vision! I behold The Mighty Mother!— She who, wandering friendless and forlorn, Sought far and near the child herself had borne, Finding nor help nor comfort in another.
Over the weakness here so proven strength, She, heavenly, Bends down; and, lo! the room becomes a shrine And hallowed altar for a love divine, Pure as her love for lost Persephone!
II
IN THE SURGICAL WARD
"He that loveth his life shall lose it"
Last night a shape of fear Came in the silence drear— Unlooked-for and unsought— With stealthy, ghost-like motion drawing near.
I could not see its face In the unlighted place; No sound of it I caught; But, shuddering, I felt its creeping pace. ​A thing too dread to bear, I knew that it was there. And, my warm blood grown cold, An icy breathing horror stirred my hair.
With pain-shut eyes I lay, Wishing yet dreading day That with strange pangs untold Should come, my frame to rack in a new way,
And powerless to free Myself, despairingly, "From the body of this death," I moaned, "Who shall deliver me?"
Then, all my pulses stirred, Awed and amazed, I heard— Uttered with calming breath Distinct and clear, apart from me—a word,
In far Judæa taught, That instant freedom brought,— Winging my soul's escape Through the blest miracle of heavenly thought. ​And in the dreaming dawn, Waiting, all fear withdrawn, I knew the coward Shape From out my life forevermore was gone.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/The Pilgrim

THE PILGRIM
ONCE a man set forth at morning, Journeying with eager footstep, Onward over fields new-wakened, Where the dew lay on the blossoms, Like to softly gleaming opals.
All the earth, refreshed by slumber, In the early light and tender Wore a green, benignant beauty; And his heart sang high within him, As the birds sang in the branches.
On he sped with fond impatience,— While the world took on new wonder,— Till he came unto a river Where there waiting stood an angel, Dark-browed, but with look celestial.
Then, appalled, the pilgrim started:— "Death! Awaitest thou my coming— Here where least I thought to meet thee? It is Love that I am seeking!" ​Very gently smiled the angel, Dark-browed, with the look celestial: "I am Love,—thyself hast named me; Yet thou fearest! Lo! I leave thee Till as now thou come to find me."
Once again the man, at sunrise, Journeyed forth,—his step less buoyant,— Passing over fields new-wakened, Where the dew lay on the blossoms Like to softly gleaming opals.
Once again Earth, fresh from slumber, In the early light and tender Wore her green and mystic beauty; Yet his heart sang not within him As the birds sang in the branches.
Onward still, without impatience, Through a world whose charm half pained him, Journeying,—behold!—the river And the long-forgotten angel— Dark-browed, with the look celestial!
As of old, the pilgrim started, And his pale cheek flushed with anger: ​"Death, thy pledge! Thou hast betrayed me! Naught have I and thou in common: It is Life that I am seeking!"
With transfiguring smile the angel, Whose whole look now showed celestial, Answered:—"Is it Life thou seekest?" Be at rest, thou weary pilgrim! Seek no further: thou hast found me."
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/The Singer

Published as "A Traveller from Altruria" in Lyrics of Life (1909).
THE SINGER
HE came to us with dreams to sell— Ah, long ago it seems! From regions where enchantments dwell, He came to us with dreams to sell, And we had need of dreams.
Our thought had planned with artful care, Our patient toil had wrought, The roomy treasure-houses where Were heaped the costly and the rare,— But dreams we had not bought:
Nay; we had felt no need of these, Until with dulcet strain, Alluring as the melodies That mock the lonely on the seas, He made all else seem vain:
Bringing an aching sense of dearth, A troubled, vague unrest, A fear that we, whose care on Earth Had been to garner things of worth, Had somehow missed the best.
​Then, as had been our wont before,— Unused in vain to sigh,— We turned our treasure o'er and o'er, But found in all our vaunted store No coin that dreams would buy.
We stood with empty hands: but gay As though upborne on wings, He left us; and at set of day We heard him singing, far away, The joy of simple things!
He left us, and with apathy We gazed upon our gold; But to the world's ascendancy Submissive, soon we came to be Much as we were of old.
Yet sometimes when the fragrant dawn In early splendor beams, And sometimes when, the twilight gone, The moon o'er-silvers wood and lawn, An echo of his dreams
Brings to the heart a swift regret That is not wholly pain, ​And, grieving, we would not forget The vision, hallowed to us yet,— The hope that seemed so vain.
And then we envy not the throng That careless passes by, With no remembrance of the song,— Though we must listen still, and long To hear it till we die!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/The House of Pain

THE HOUSE OF PAIN
UNTO the Prison House of Pain none willingly repair; The bravest who an entrance gain Reluctant linger there, For Pleasure, passing by that door, stays not to cheer the sight, And Sympathy but muffles sound and banishes the light.
Yet in the Prison House of Pain things full of beauty blow,— Like Christmas-roses, which attain Perfection 'mid the snow; Love, entering, in his mild warmth the darkest shadows melt, And often, where the hush is deep, the waft of wings is felt.
Ah, me! the Prison House of Pain!—what lessons there are bought!— Lessons of a sublimer strain Than any elsewhere taught; ​Amid its loneliness and gloom, grave meanings grow more clear, For to no earthly dwelling-place seems God so strangely near.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/The Frogs

THE FROGS
A CONCERT IN THE MARSH
THE perfect eloquence of silence; then, Amid the softened afterglow, From each bay-bordered island fen On either hand, distinct but low— Was it the twang of strings?... O'erhead there is a whirr of homing wings, And silence falls again.
But now—ah, timely,—the choragus! Hark! Leader of choric minstrels grim, Grave his solemnity: and mark What eerie voices follow him As strophe and antistrophe Swell to the roar of a far-sounding sea, Out of the marshy dark!
Can these, indeed, be voices, that so greet The twilight still? I seem to hear Oboe and cymbal in a rhythmic beat With bass-drum and bassoon; their drear And droll crescendo louder growing, Then falling back, like waters ebbing, flowing,— Back to the silence sweet!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/The Man-Soul

THE MAN-SOUL
HE made it pure— More pure than deep-sea water, or the dew Distilled in mountain hollows: made it true As heaven's o'er-arching blue, Or as that orb that doth the main secure, The lonely mariner's guiding cynosure. He made it sweet As lover's lips that meet For the first time, with tremulous delight; Or as the tears that more than half requite Their pain after long parting: made it brave, Fearless of wind or wave; A tameless thing with aspiration filled, That dares where eagles may not nest, to build!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/The New Mars

THE NEW MARS
I WAR against the folly that is War, The sacrifice that pity hath not stayed, The Great Delusion men have perished for, The lie that hath the souls of men betrayed: I war for justice and for human right, Against the lawless tyranny of Might.
A monstrous cult has held the world too long: The worship of a Moloch that hath slain Remorselessly the young, the brave, the strong,— Indifferent to the unmeasured pain, The accumulated horror and despair, That stricken Earth no longer wills to bear.
My goal is peace,—not peace at any price, While yet ensanguined jaws of Evil yawn Hungry and pitiless: Nay, peace were vice Until the cruel dragon-teeth be drawn, And the wronged victims of Oppression be Delivered from its hateful rule, and free!
​When comes that hour, resentment laid aside, Into a ploughshare will I beat my sword; The weaker Nations' strength shall be my pride, Their gladness my exceeding great reward; And not in vain shall be the tears now shed, Nor vain the service of the gallant dead.
I war against the folly which is War, The futile sacrifice that naught hath stayed, The Great Delusion men have perished for, The lie that hath the souls of men betrayed; For faith I war, humanity, and trust; For peace on earth—a lasting peace, and just!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/The Land of Promise

THE LAND OF PROMISE
ALTHOUGH the faiths to which we fearful clung Fall from us, or no more have might to save; Although the past, recalling gifts it gave, O'er lost delights a doleful knell have rung; Although the present, forth from ashes sprung, Postpone from day to day what most we crave, And, promising, beguile us to the grave,— Yet, toward the Future, we are always young!
It smiles upon us in last lingering hours, If with less radiance, with a light as fair, As tender, pure, as in our childish years: It is the fairy realm of fadeless flowers; Of songs and ever-springing fountains, where No heart-aches come, no vain regrets, no tears!
# Poems (Davidson)/Chicomico

CHICOMICO.
This Poem is founded on the following actual occurrences: During the Seminole war, Duncan M. Rimmon (the Rathmond of the poem), a Georgia militiaman, was captured by the Indians. Hillis-adjo, their chief, condemned him to death. He was bound; but while the instruments of torture were preparing, the tender-hearted daughter of Hillis-adjo (the Chicomico of the tale) threw herself between the prisoner and his executioners, and interceded with her father for his release. She was successful. His life was spared. In the progress of the war, however, it was the fate of the generous Hillis-adjo (the prophet Francis) himself to be taken a prisoner of war, and it was thought necessary to put him to death. These incidents Miss Davidson wrought up, with other characters (probably fictitious), to compose the whole of this poem. The first part of the poem is so incomplete, that it was thought best to introduce the reader immediately the second part. The war had broken out. Chicomico had solicited the presence of Ompahaw, a venerable chief, to aid her father Hillis-adjo against the whites, with Rathmond at their head. The battle is described, the Indians are victorious, and Rathmond is taken prisoner. Here the secoud part commences.