OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Long Sault Development Company v. Call

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
242 U.S. 272
Long Sault Development Company v. Call
Argued: April 14 and 17, 1916. --- Decided: October 31, 1916
Messrs. Henry W. Taft and Francis Sims McGrath for plaintiff in error.
Messrs. Merton E. Lewis, C. T. Dawes, and Mr. E. E. Woodbury, Attorney General of New York, for defendant in error.
Mr. Justice Clarke 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
# Long, Broad, and Sharp-Eyes

* related portals: Czech literature.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, Wikidata item.
Czech folk tale retold by Karel Jaromír Erben
English-language translations of Dlouhý, Široký a Bystrozraký include:
* "Long, Broad, and Sharp-Eyes" in Segnius Irritant: or Eight Primitive Folk-lore Stories, translated by Walter William Strickland (1896)
* "Longshanks, Girth, and Keen" in Czechoslovak fairy tales, translated by Parker Hoysted Fillmore (c1919)
# Long Have I Seemed to Serve Thee, Lord

Long have I seem'd to serve Thee, Lord, With unavailing Pain; Fasted, pray'd, and read thy Word, And heard it preach'd, in vain.
Oft did I with th' Assembly join, And near Thine Altar drew; A Form of Godliness was mine. The Pow'r I never knew.
To please Thee, thus (at last I see) In vain I hop'd, and strove: For what are Outward Things to Thee, Unless they spring from Love?
I see the perfect Law requires Truth in the Inward Parts, Our full Consent, our whole Desires, Our Undivided Hearts.
But I of Means have made my Boast, Of Means an Idol made, The spirit in the Letter lost, The Substance in the Shade.
I rested in the Outward Law, Nor knew its deep Design; The Length, and Breadth, I never saw, And Heighth of Love Divine.
Where am I now, or what my Hope? What can my Weakness do? Jesu! to Thee my Soul looks up, 'Tis Thou must make it new.
Thine is the Work, and Thine alone. But shall I idly stand? Shall I the written Rule disown, And slight my GOD's command?
Wildly shall I from Thine turn back, A better Path to find; Thine Holy Ordinance forsake, And cast thy Words behind?
Forbid it, gracious Lord, that I Should ever learn Thee so! No-–let me with Thy word comply, If I thy Love would know.
Suffice for me, that Thou, my Lord, Hast bid me fast, and pray: Thy Will be done, thy Name ador'd; 'Tis only mine t'obey.
Thou bidst me search the sacred Leaves, And taste the Hallow'd Bread: The kind Commands my Soul receives, And longs on Thee to feed.
Still for thy Loving Kindness, Lord, I in thy Temple wait, I look to find Thee in thy word, Or at thy Table meet.
Here, in Thine own appointed Ways, I wait to learn Thy will: Silent I stand before thy Face, And hear Thee say, "Be still!
Be still-–and know that I am GOD!" 'Tis all I live to know, To feel the Virtue of thy Blood, And spread its Praise below.
I wait my Vigour to renew, Thine Image to retrieve, The Veil of outward Things pass thro', And gasp in Thee to live.
I work; and own the Labour vain: And thus from Works I cease: I strive, and see my fruitless Pain, 'Till GOD create my Peace.
Fruitless, 'till Thou Thyself impart, Must all my Efforts prove: They cannot change a sinful Heart, They cannot purchase Love.
I do the Thing thy Laws enjoin, And then the Strife gives o'er: To Thee I then the whole resign: I trust in Means no more.
I trust in Him who stands between The Father's Wrath and me: Jesu! Thou great Eternal Mean, I look for all from Thee.
Thy Mercy pleads, thy Truth requires, Thy Promise calls Thee down: Not for the sake of my Desires–----- But Oh! regard Thine own!
I seek no Motive out of Thee: Thine own Desires fulfil: If now thy Bowels yearn on me, On me perform thy Will.
Doom, if Thou canst, to endless Pains, And drive me from thy Face: But if thy stronger Love constrains, Let me be sav'd by Grace.
# Long Ago

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Long Ago."
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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.
* Long Ago, a poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
* Long Ago, a poem by Eugene Field
* "Long Ago" in Littell's Living Age, 137 (1764), a poem attributed to J. C. H.
# Long Odds

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Long Odds."
* 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.
* Long Odds by H. Rider Haggard
* Long Odds by Marcus Clarke
# Mandragora/The Lane

          THE LANE
No one can take away from me
 A storm-swept lane I once wandered through,
Overhung with ivy and briony,
 And heavy with holly and sombre yew.
The wind in the tree-tops moaned and cried,
 And 'mid ancient stalks of faded sedge, Wild basil drooped, grew pallid, and died;
 And dying marjoram filled the hedge.
In long-drawn gusts from the down-land's verge,  The cold rain sobbed disconsolately;
And borne on the wind from the distant surge,
 The sound of the sea came lamentably.
Well did I love the rain in my face
 And the smell of the leaf-mould and tangled grass,
And the flapping wings that rose from the place,
 As flocks of starlings heard me pass.
And again and again, when in crowded squares
 The pulse of my life falls low and sinks, Of the deep-drawn breath of those down-land airs
 My parched and harrowed spirit drinks.
And I pray to the gods I may find ere I die
 A heart that shall be as that lane to me,
With wild-tossed branches and windy sky
 And the sound of the everlasting sea!
# Mandragora/The Mask

Published in Mandragora (1917)
          THE MASK
WITH treacheries bitter and deep
 I have kept my place.
With a mask like the mask of sleep
 I have covered my face.
I have smiled while my heart beneath
 Was deadly with fate,
And the sword in my jewelled sheath
 Was white with my hate.
But now as you lift up your hand,
 Light as a flower, By the word of the wind in the sand
 I know it, my hour!
And I drop my mask and let fall
 The sheath from my sword —
You shall know me, O my one of all,
 As I am before God !
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 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 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
# Mandragora/The Gods

             THE GODS
LET us leave them all, my dear!
 Love, for you, is dead;
Dead and buried far from here,
With the shadows on his bier,
 Earth upon his head.
Let us leave them all, my child!
 Love, for me, has flown;
Flown and vanished in the wild,
Reconciled, unreconciled,
 Turning to his own.
Let us leave them, oh my friend!
Shall not the deep night
 With its large and liquid breath,
 Like the flowing of calm death, Heal our memory at the end
 And make all things right?
Put the burning fierce unrest
From your brain and from your breast.
 Let us kiss the earth and rest.
Ah! perchance if we lie still —
 Very still and very quiet
With our pulses' ancient riot  Hushed and silenced by our will,
There will come thro' the green shadows,
 Thro' the eternal leafy shadows,
Lingering, pausing, watching, dreaming,
 Turning all our pain to seeming;
While the mole of memory delves,  The immortal gods themselves!
# Mandragora/The Grave

WHAT are you thinking when so you look,
 Holding my hand with cold, cold fingers,
As we watch this babbling summer brook
 Where the virginal flush of spring still lingers?'
"Your eyes are vacant. They stare and stare.
 They seem not to see these blossoms white
That drink the sun and perfume the air.
 They stare like a dead man's into the night."
"I think of a white road crossing a hill,
 And a ruined church where no man passes,
And a tombstone lying hushed and still
 And a north wind whispering thro' the grasses.
"Is my body not warm to your touch.
 That you hold me so quietly on your knees?
Look how the sunlight falls thro' the trees!
 Is love dead so soon? Is it always such?"   "The white road crosses the barren hill;
 No blossoms are there, no bodies warm;
Only a tombstone, very still,  And one beneath it, a shrouded form."
"Had she lips that were warm like mine?
 When I am dead a thousand lovers
Will kiss the earth my body covers;
 And the splendid sun on my dust will shine.
"Far, you say, is that ruined place?
 No man walks on that lonely road?
Was it so beautiful, then, that face
 That is mingled now with the heavy mould?"
"No! No! Not beautiful at all!
 Withered and wasted — what you will!
And the north wind blows thro' that ruined wall,  And no man ever crosses that hill!
"Yes, your thousand lovers will come.
 I believe it! And till the sea
Drown in its flood her grassy tomb
 She will unremembered be!"
# Mandragora/The Horizon

Published in Mandragora (1917)
          THE HORIZON
PALE trees on the horizon grow,
 Pale, faint and dim and grey —
Can they be real trees? They flow
 Into the mist away.
Between us the valleys are green and wide,
But what is beyond on the other side?
Beyond I see a wooden pier,
 Stretching into a shadowy lake.
And a sudden cry of wild-fowl I hear
 As over the reeds their flight they take.
Over the reeds and far away
Beyond the trees, dim, pale and grey;
 A wooden pier — a shadowy pond.
 But what is beyond? What is beyond?
Beyond there is a long, long road.
 Bordered by ditches dark and wide.
Where a wayfarer with a heavy load
 Talks to the silence at his side.
Talks to the silence and talks to the trees.
But what is beyond, beyond all these?
Beyond is a house with a ruined wall,
 Where the long road enters an ancient wood.
And its rafters rot and sink and fall,
 And nothing disturbs its solitude,
Only a heron, high up in the sky,
Cries with a melancholy cry;
 Cries to the house, to the road and the trees,
 Cries to the wayfarer passing these;
Between us the valleys are green and wide,
But what is beyond — on the other side?
Pale trees on the horizon grow,
 Pale, faint and dim and grey.
Can they be real trees? They flow
 Into the mist away!
Beyond and beyond, and further still,
Beyond, till we cross the world's last hill —
So it goes. So it always will!
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 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 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
# Mandragora/The Golden Cup

Published in Mandragora (1917)
          THE GOLDEN CUP
LOVELY with memories surging up,
 From a fount beneath the years,
This light spring day like a golden cup.
 Holds something deeper than tears.
Misty and tender, beneath, above.
 The green, green sap flows sweet.
And beyond the mountains waits my Love,
 With daisies at her feet.
Is it I, is it I, whom love has found?
 No! No! It cannot be!
I have lost my sense for such heavenly sound
 And my ear for such harmony.
Who am I that such liquid and tender mist
 From the green, green trees should rise?
Who am I to be welcomed and healed and kissed
 By the wonder of such skies?
Not unto me, oh. Lord, not unto me.
 This lovely and golden day!
Take it and scatter it abroad
 Over the land and sea!
Let it float and flicker, this heaven-sent light,
 Where the saddest wanderers roam;
Till the healing dews fall with the night,
 And the lost return to their home!
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 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 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
# Mandragora/The Little Flame

Published in Mandragora (1917)
THE LITTLE FLAME
* TRAMPLE it fiercely down,
* It will not burn your feet.
* The little flame that your savage frown
* Hated as it went up and down,
* Because it had no heat.
* Trample it in the dust!
* It only carries in it
* The far horizon of one hope,
* One faith, one trust, one horoscope,
* Cast by one fatal minute.
* Press your heel hard on it there.
* You know it cannot burn.
* It can only answer a hurt life's prayer.
* With an ecstasy delicate as air,
* That you have yet to learn.
* Look! It still licks the ground.
* Out with it! Turn it to clay!
* The wind will blow with its ancient sound.
* When that flame is buried underground
* And you have gone your way.
* No, it never had heat,
* Love sometimes shows that lack!
* But you — you have spurned beneath your feet,
* What one day, weary of wine and meat.
* In vain you'll summon back.
* A pale flame, after your fierce sunsets!
* Yet the Spring came at its call,
* Bringing windflowers and pansies and violets,
* And the rosemary that has no regrets
* And lasts the longest of all.
* Pray, child, to the gods that when you've found
* What the heats of passion prove.
* You sob not aloud with a piteous sound.
* Over the plot of trampled ground,
* Wherein you murdered love.
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 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 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
# Mandragora/The Leaves

Published in Mandragora (1917)
             THE LEAVES
THE first dead leaves of the year are down!
Look, how pale they float,
Under the bridge of the market-town
 By wharf and barge and boat!
How cold the rain-drenched meadows lie,
 Heavy with mist each one!
And the elm-trees stand how silently
 Against the horizon!
Oh, Love, oh, Life, most strange, most blind
 Are our days beneath the sun!
A leaf on the water; on the wind
 A feather — and all is done.
The market-town still sleeps — Sweet Christ,
 How motionless it seems!
As if one night of rain sufficed
 To cover it with dreams.
Can it be only yesterday.
 On this same bridge I stood.
And watched the red sun sink away
 Behind a fairy wood?
The gods protect us all! So soon
 Can summer cease? So light
Can they drift, the leaves that played love's tune?
 Can the world end in a night?
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 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 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
# Mandragora/The Hour

Published in Mandragora (1917)
          THE HOUR
COME let us take this hour and hold it up
 While our stars shine,
Leaving our joy untouched, as in a cup
 Of unspilt wine;
Then, though the deluge break and we be driven
 Into the grave,
Like gods unto the gods we shall have given
 The gift they gave.
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 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 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
# Mandragora/The Garden

             THE GARDEN
WHERE the wet fields stretch away, away,
 And travellers never come,
There is the land where my thoughts stray
 And the house I call my home.
No house had ever so deep a moat,
 Or such tall reeds round It, and no man ever
 Heard such lamentable trees
Whispering In the fatal breeze!
 Will the keel of that strange boat
Lying under the lilies there,
 Lying in weeds like drowned girl's hair,
Ever rise again and float?
 Never did the wandering wind
Press its sad invisible face
 'Gainst such window-casements blind!
Never did the night-hawk chase
 Thro' a sultrier, heavier night
Moths so ghostly in their flight!
 Never did the wild swans fly
Over such roofs of mystery!
 But do you think it is only of these
Desperate, far-off, piteous, strange,  That I dream, when you see my memory range?
 Do you think it is only of these?
No! No! dear heart. If you had seen
 That inner garden with crumbling wall,
That garden where a dying queen
 Might listen all night to a ghost's foot-fall,
If you had seen that old parterre
 Of roses red with forbidden passion
You would know too well why I wander there,
 Too well why my dreams are out of fashion!
Oh, their classic skies are blue and white.
 But grey upon grey is best;
And to follow the rain is my delight
 And the wild swans in their long, long flight
Into the night — into the night —
 To that garden of the West.
# Lustra/Salutation the Second

Salutation the Second
You were praised, my books, because I had just come from the country;
I was twenty years behind the times so you found an audience ready.
I do not disown you, do not you disown your progeny.
Here they stand without quaint devices, Here they are with nothing archaic about them.
Watch the reporters spit, Watch the anger of the professors, Watch how the pretty ladies revile them:
"Is this," they say, "the nonsense that we expect of poets?"
"Where is the Picturesque?" "Where is the vertigo of emotion?"
"No! his first work was the best." "Poor Dear! he has lost his illusions."
Go, little naked and impudent songs, Go with a light foot! (Or with two light feet, if it please you!) Go and dance shamelessly! Go with an impertinent frolic!
Greet the grave and the stodgy, Salute them with your thumbs at your noses.
Here are your bells and confetti. Go! rejuvenate things! Rejuvenate even "The Spectator." Go! and make cat calls! Dance and make people blush, Dance the dance of the phallus and tell anecdotes of Cybele! Speak of the indecorous conduct of the Gods! (Tell it to Mr. Strachey.)
Ruffle the skirts of prudes, speak of their knees and ankles. But, above all, go to practical people— go! jangle their door-bells! Say that you do no work and that you will live forever.
# Lustra/Salutation

Salutation
O generation of the thoroughly smug and thoroughly uncomfortable, I have seen fishermen picnicking in the sun, I have seen them with untidy families, I have seen their smiles full of teeth and heard ungainly laughter.
And I am happier than you are, And they were happier than I am; And the fish swim in the lake and do not even own clothing.
# Lustra/Salvationists

Salvationists
I
We shall get ourselves rather disliked.
II
The very excellent term Rusticus. Let us apply it in all its opprobrium To those to whom it applies. And you may decline to make them immortal. For we shall consider them and their state In delicate Opulent silence.
III
Let us take arms against this sea of stupidities— Begining with Mumpodorus; And against this sea of vulgarities— Beginning with Nimmim; And against this sea of imbeciles— All the Bulmenian literati.
# Lustra/Phyllidula

Phyllidula
Phyllidula is scrawny but amorous, Thus have the gods awarded her That in pleasure she receives more than she can give, If she does not count this blessed Let her change her religion.
# Lustra/Poem by the Bridge at Ten-Shin

Poem by the Bridge at Ten-Shin
March has come to the bridge head, Peach boughs and apricot boughs hang over a thousand gates, At morning there are flowers to cut the heart, And evening drives them on the eastward-flowing waters. Petals are on the gone waters and on the going, And on the back-swirling eddies, But to-day's men are not the men of the old days, Though they hang in the same way over the bridge-rail.
The sea's colour moves at the dawn And the princes still stand in rows, about the throne, And the moon falls over the portals of Sei-go-yo, And clings to the walls and the gate-top. With head gear glittering against the cloud and sun, The lords go forth from the court, and into far borders.
They ride upon dragon-like horses, Upon horses with head-trappings of yellow metal, And the streets make way for their passage. Haughty their passing, Haughty their steps as they go into great banquets, To high halls and curious food, To the perfumed air and girls dancing, To clear flutes and clear singing; To the dance of the seventy couples; To the mad chase through the gardens. Night and day are given over to pleasure And they think it will last a thousand autumns, Unwearying autumns. For them the yellow dogs howl portents in vain, And what are they compared to the lady Riokushu, That was cause of hate! Who among them is a man like Han-rei Who departed alone with his mistress, With her hair unbound, and he his own skiffs-man! By Rihaku.
# Lustra/Preference

Preference
It is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies, But for all that I have seen you on a high, white, noble horse, Like some strange queen in a story.
It is odd that you should be covered with long robes and trailing tendrils and flowers; It is odd that you should be changing your face and resembling some other woman to plague me; It is odd that you should be hiding yourself In the cloud of beautiful women who do not concern me.
And I, who follow every seed-leaf upon the wind? You will say that I deserve this.