OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/Yesterday And To-Morrow

YESTERDAY AND TO-MORROW
Yesterday I held your hand, Reverently I pressed it, And its gentle yieldingness From my soul I blessed it.
But to-day I sit alone, Sad and sore repining; Must our gold forever know Flames for the refining?
Yesterday I walked with you, Could a day be sweeter? Life was all a lyric song Set to tricksy meter.
Ah, to-day is like a dirge,— Place my arms around you, Let me feel the same dear joy As when first I found you.
Let me once retrace my steps, From these roads unpleasant, Let my heart and mind and soul All ignore the present.
Yesterday the iron seared And to-day means sorrow. Pause, my soul, arise, arise, Look where gleams the morrow.
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
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Cynthia/Sonnet 1

SONNET I.
Sporting at fancie, setting light by loue, There came a theefe, and stole away my heart (And therefore robd me of my chiefest part): Yet cannot Reason him a felon proue. For why his beauty (my hearts thiefe) affirmeth, Piercing no skin (the bodies fensiue wall) And hauing leaue, and free consent withall, Himselfe not guilty, whom loue guilty tearmeth, Conscience the Iudge, twelue Reasons are the Iurie, They finde mine eies the beutie t' haue let in, And on this verdict giuen, agreed they bin, Wherefore, because his beauty did allure yee, Your Doome is this: in teares still to be drowned, When his faire forehead with disdaine is frowned.
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/The Cup (Swami Vivekananda)

NARENDRA NATH DUTTA (Swami Vivekananda), 1862-1902.
The Cup.
This is your cup—the cup assigned to you From the beginning. Nay, My child, I know How much of that dark drink is your own brew Of fault and passion, ages long ago, In the deep years of yesterday, I knew.
This is your road—a painful road and drear. I made the stones that never give you rest. I set your friend in pleasant ways and clear, And he shall come, like you, unto My breast. But you, My child, must travel here.
This is your task. It has no joy nor grace, But 'tis not meant for any other hand, And in My universe hath measured place, Take it. I do not bid you understand. I bid you close your eyes to see MY face.
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/The Gopees' Address to the Kokil (Jatindra Mohan Tagore)

The Gopees' Address to the Kokil.
Ah! cease, dear Kokil, cease to sing Thy soft enchanting lays, For, ever to our minds they bring The thoughts of happier days, sweet bird! The thoughts of happier days!
And mem'ry fondly paints the scene, When in the Tamal grove We joyous danced and struck the Veen And sang of youth and love, sweet bird! And sang of youth and love!
What time the moonbeams brightly glanced On yonder flowery mead, How oft we sat and heard entranced The BLUE GOD'S distant reed, sweet bird! The BLUE GOD'S distant reed!
When Phalgoon showered her beauties bright, And bloomed both hearts and flowers, How joyous then we past the night In Jumna's blessed bowers, sweet bird! In Jumna's blessed bowers!
But past and gone are those sweet days, And all our joys are o'er; Thy songs but sad remembrance raise, Oh! sing thy lays no more, sweet bird! Oh! sing thy lays no more!
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/Suttee (Sarojini Naidu)

Suttee.
Lamp of my life, the lips of Death Have blown thee out with their sudden breath; Naught shall revive thy vanished spark— Love, must I dwell in the living dark?
Tree of my life, Death's cruel foot Hath crushed thee down to thy hidden root; Nought shall restore thy glory fled— Shall the blossom live when the tree is dead?
Life of my life, Death's bitter sword Hath severed us like a broken word, Rent us in twain who are but one— Shall the flesh survive when the soul is gone?
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/Storm and Rain (Kasiprasad Ghose)

Storm and Rain.
The mighty demons of the storm have met In battle fierce. Relentless anger fires Their bosoms, proud of desolating power. Their swords in rapid wavings flash; and oft In lightning gleams illume the darkened earth. Hark! how they vaunt in thunder deep and loud, And madly howling, rave athwart the arch Of heaven; convolving Gunga's waters deep; Which wildly running to and fro, dismayed, Or upward bounding high, appear as if They wish to break loose from their beds to fly The tempest's rage. Beneath its headlong speed
Reft of her beauties green, fair Nature quakes Affrighted; and upon the plain are strewed Leaves, arms, and trunks of many a giant tree Felled by their wrath.
But soon unto the clouds, Which darkly frown upon the earth, as though In hate and envy, fly the tempest fiends; And there, bound by some unknown, powerful charm, They roar as if once more they would descend And sweep the world before their furious course Blasting the fairest scenes of Nature fair With demon strength and hate.
The ruthless storm Is past. Cloud upon cloud is piled along The darksome brow of yonder skies, enshrouding The face of the bright Sun, who o'er the earth High on his throne of ether, erst did reign In splendour cloudless, dazzling, yet serene. The gathering darkness deepens round; as if The spell of awe hath bound the face of heaven— The spell which but the poet's gifted eye Can trace; and but his flexile heart can feel Attracted.
Now the floods of heaven unsealed At once burst forth in torrents, deluging The shrinking earth: and as the clouds become Dispersed and thinner by the wandering breeze, The glories of the broad, meridian Sun Descend and sparkle. But the firmament Still pours its genial springs of crystal rain, Which, brightened by the solar beams, appear Like showers of liquid radiance falling down, A blessed gift to Man from favouring heaven. The little shrubs, which ere long drooped beneath
The summer Sun's refulgent noontide, now Reviving, raise their heads and put forth all Their verdurous majesty. Each leaf is decked With drops of rain, like pearls and diamonds bright Quivering in the gentle gale, which breathes Delightful fragrance round.
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/The Gift of India (Sarojini Naidu)

The Gift of India.
Is there aught you need that my hands withhold, Rich gifts of raiment or grain or gold? Lo! I have flung to the East and West, Priceless treasures torn from my breast, And yielded the sons of my stricken womb To the drum-beats of duty, the sabres of doom.
Gathered like pearls in their alien graves
Silent they sleep by the Persian waves,
Scattered like shells on Egyptian sands,
They lie with pale brows and brave, broken hands, They are strewn like blossoms mown down by chance
On the blood-brown meadows of Flanders and France.
Can ye measure the grief of the tears I weep
Or compass the woe of the watch I keep?
Or the pride that thrills thro' my heart's despair,
And the hope that comforts the anguish of prayer?
And the far sad glorious vision I see
Of the torn red banners of Victory?
When the terror and tumult of hate shall cease,
And life be refashioned on anvils of peace,
And your love shall offer memorial thanks
To the comrades who fought in your dauntless ranks,
And you honour the deeds of the deathless ones, Remember the blood of my martyred sons!
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/Tarra Baee (Hur Chunder Dutt)

HUR CHUNDER DUTT, 1831–1901.
Tarra Baee.
"Sootan being deprived of Thoda by Lilla the Afghan, occupied Bednore. His daughter Tarra Baee, or the Star of Bednore, stimulated by the reverses of her family, and by the incentive of its ancient glory, scorned the habiliments and occupations of her sex, and devoted herself to manly sports and exercises. When princes made proposals for her hand, her answer was 'Redeem Thoda and my hand is thine.'"
She sat upon her palfrey white, That damsel fair and young, And from the jewelled belt she wore, Her trusty rapier hung; And chieftains bold, and warriors proud, Around her formed a gallant crowd.
A helmet clasped her forehead fair, A shield was by her side; The helmet was of polished steel, The shield of bison's hide; And as she spoke, the evening air Disported with her raven hair.
'From girlhood, I have shunned the sports In which our sex delight, And learnt instead to use the sword, And wield the falchion bright; To meet the tigress turned to bay, And guide the war-horse in the fray.
'From girlhood, I have vowed a vow Our honour to redeem,
And make my noble father's name Of every song the theme; To rescue Thoda from the slave Who lives to fill a coward's grave.
'And till my life-blood's purple flow Stand stagnant in my veins, That early vow to see fulfilled I'll spare nor strength nor pains: To those who join me in the war I'll be a radiant beacon star!
'My hand—'tis his who foremost scales The ramparts of the foe, And to the wicked Lilla deals The dread avenging blow; Go, warriors—these alone decide The man who wins me as his bride.'
# The Complete Works of Lyof N. Tolstoï/Introduction to A. Stockham's Tokology

INTRODUCTION TO A. STOCKHAM'S TOKOLOGY
THE book here presented does not belong among the vast throng of books of every kind, from those treating of philosophy and science to those treating of art and practical life, books which in differing words, in differing combinations and modifications, utter and reiterate the same familiar old commonplaces.
This book is one of those rare ones which treat, not of what every one is talking about and is necessary to no one, but of something which no one talks about, and is important and necessary to every one.
It is important for parents to know how to behave themselves so as, without excessive suffering, to bring into the world pure and healthy children and it is still more important for the prospective children themselves to be born under the best conditions,—as it says in one of the epigraphs of this book: To be well born is the right of every child.
This book is not one of those that are read merely so that no one may say, "I have not read it," but it is one of those the reading of which leaves something behind, compelling people to change their lives, to correct what was incorrect in them, or at least to think about it.
This book is entitled "Tokology," the science of the birth of children. There are all kinds of very strange sciences, but no such science as this; and yet, next to the science of how to live and how to die, this is the most important of sciences.
This book has had a great success in America, and has had a wide and important influence on American mothers and fathers. In Russia it ought to exert a still ​greater influence, the question of refraining from tobacco and all kinds of stimulating beverages, beginning with alcohol and ending with tea, the questions of nutrition without taking the lives of animals, vegetarianism, the questions of sexual restraint in family life, and many others, some of them already settled, others still under discussion, and evoking an enormous literature in Europe and America, have with us scarcely, as yet, been touched upon; and therefore Dr. Stockham's book is especially important for us: it immediately transports the reader into a new world of vital human impulse.
In this book every thoughtful woman—it is especially designed for women—will find first and foremost that there is not the slightest necessity for her to continue living so blindly as old women and young girls have been living, but that she may and must find better ways of living, using for this purpose science, the experience of people, and her own free thought; and as a first example of such a method of treatment she will find in this book many precious counsels, and hints which will make life easier for herself, for her husband, and for her children.
February 14, 1890.
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# The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche/Volume 10/My Bliss

German Original published 1887 as part of the second edition of The Joyful Wisdom ('La Gaya Scienza'). This translation published in 1910 as part of Oscar Levy's The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche volume 10.
Once more, St Mark, thy pigeons meet my gaze, The Square lies still, in slumbering morning mood:
In soft, cool air I fashion idle lays,
Speeding them skyward like a pigeon's brood: And then recall my minions To tie fresh rhymes upon their willing pinions. My bliss! My bliss!
Calm heavenly roof of azure silkiness,
Guarding with shimmering haze yon house divine!
Thee, house, I love, fear—envy, I'll confess,
And gladly would suck out that soul of thine! "Should I give back the prize?" Ask not, great pasture-ground for human eyes!
My bliss! My bliss!
Stern belfry, rising as with lion's leap Sheer from the soil in easy victory, That fill'st the Square with peal resounding, deep, Wert thou in French that Square's "accent aigu"? Were I for ages set
In earth like thee, I know what silk-meshed net. . . . My bliss! My bliss!
Hence, music! First let darker shadows come,
And grow, and merge into brown, mellow night! 'Tis early for your pealing, ere the dome Sparkle in roseate glory, gold-bedight. While yet 'tis day, there's time For strolling, lonely muttering, forging rhyme—
My bliss! My bliss!
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# The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche/Volume 10/Sils-Maria

German Original published 1887 as part of the second edition of The Joyful Wisdom ('La Gaya Scienza'). This translation published in 1910 as part of Oscar Levy's The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche volume 10.
Here sat I waiting, waiting, but for naught! Beyond all good and evil—now by light wrought
To joy, now by dark shadows—all was leisure, All lake, all noon, all time sans aim, sans measure.
Then one, dear friend, was swiftly changed to twain, And Zarathustra left my teeming brain. ...
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# The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche/Volume 10/Souls that Lack Determination

German Original published 1887 as part of the second edition of The Joyful Wisdom ('La Gaya Scienza'). This translation published in 1910 as part of Oscar Levy's The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche volume 10.
Souls that lack determination
Rouse my wrath to white-hot flame!
All their glory's but vexation,
All their praise but self-contempt and shame!
Since I baffle their advances.
Will not clutch their leading-string.
They would wither me with glances
Bitter-sweet, with hopeless envy sting.
Let them with fell curses shiver.
Curl their lip the livelong day!
Seek me as they will, forever
Helplessly their eyes shall go astray!
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche/Volume 10/The Poet's Call

German Original published 1887 as part of the second edition of The Joyful Wisdom ('La Gaya Scienza'). This translation published in 1910 as part of Oscar Levy's The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche volume 10.
As 'neath a shady tree I sat After long toil to take my pleasure, I heard a tapping "pit-a-pat" Beat prettily in rhythmic measure. Tho' first I scowled, my face set hard, The sound at length my sense entrapping Forced me to speak like any bard, And keep true time unto the tapping.   As I made verses, never stopping, Each syllable the bird went after, Keeping in time with dainty hopping! I burst into unmeasured laughter!
What, you a poet? You a poet? Can your brains truly so addled be? "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
What doth me to these woods entice? The chance to give some thief a trouncing? A saw, an image? Ha, in a trice My rhyme is on it, swiftly pouncing! All things that creep or crawl the poet Weaves in his word-loom cunningly. "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"
Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
Like to an arrow, methinks, a verse is, See how it quivers, pricks and smarts When shot full straight (no tender mercies!) Into the reptile's nobler parts!
Wretches, you die at the hand of the poet, Or stagger like men that have drunk too free. "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
So they go hurrying, stanzas malign, Drunken words—what a clattering, banging!— Till the whole company, line on line, All on the rhythmic chain are hanging. Has he really a cruel heart, your poet? Are there fiends who rejoice, the slaughter to see? "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
So you jest at me, bird, with your scornful graces? So sore indeed is the plight of my head? And my heart, you say, in yet sorrier case is? Beware! for my wrath is a thing to dread! Yet e'en in the hour of his wrath the poet Rhymes you and sings with the selfsame glee. "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.
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# The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche/Volume 10/Rimus Remedium

German Original published 1887 as part of the second edition of The Joyful Wisdom ('La Gaya Scienza'). This translation published in 1910 as part of Oscar Levy's The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche volume 10.
RIMUS REMEDIUM
From thy moist lips,
O Time, thou witch, beslavering me,
Hour upon hour too slowly drips
In vain—I cry, in frenzy's fit,
"A curse upon that yawning pit, A curse upon Eternity!"   The world's of brass,
A fiery bullock, deaf to wail: Pain's dagger pierces my cuirass,
Wingéd, and writes upon my bone:
"Bowels and heart the world hath none, Why scourge her sins with anger's flail?"
Pour poppies now,
Pour venom, Fever, on my brain!
Too long you test my hand and brow:
What ask you? "What—reward is paid?" A malediction on you, jade, And your disdain!
No, I retract,
'Tis cold— I hear the rain importune—
Fever, I'll soften, show my tact: Here's gold—a coin—see it gleam!
Shall I with blessings on you beam,
Call you "good fortune"?
The door opes wide, And raindrops on my bed are scattered, The light's blown out—woes multiplied!
He that hath not an hundred rhymes, I'll wager, in these dolorous times We'd see him shattered!
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche/Volume 10/Song of a Theocritean Goatherd

German Original published 1887 as part of the second edition of The Joyful Wisdom ('La Gaya Scienza'). This translation published in 1910 as part of Oscar Levy's The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche volume 10.
Here I lie, my bowels sore,
Hosts of bugs advancing,
Yonder lights and romp and roar!
What's that sound? They're dancing!
At this instant, so she prated,
Stealthily she'd meet me:
Like a faithful dog I've waited,
Not a sign to greet me!
She promised, made the cross-sign, too.
Could her vows be hollow?
Or runs she after all that woo.
Like the goats I follow?
Whence your silken gown, my maid?
Ah, you'd fain be haughty,
Yet perchance you've proved a jade
With some satyr naughty!
Waiting long, the lovelorn wight
Is filled with rage and poison:
Even so on sultry night
Toadstools grow in foison.
Pinching sore, in devil's mood,
Love doth plague my crupper:
Truly I can eat no food:
Farewell, onion-supper!
Seaward sinks the moon away,
The stars are wan, and flare not:
Dawn approaches, gloomy, grey.
Let Death come! I care not!
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche/Volume 10/Songs of Prince Free-as-a-Bird

German Original published 1887 as part of the second edition of The Joyful Wisdom ('La Gaya Scienza'). This translation published in 1910 as part of Oscar Levy's The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche volume 10.
* "To Goethe"
* "The Poet's Call"
* "In the South"
* "Beppa the Pious"
* "The Boat of Mystery"
* "An Avowal of Love (during which, however, the poet fell into a pit)"
* "Song of a Theocritean Goatherd"
* "Souls that Lack Determination"
* "The Fool's Dilemma"
* "Rimus Remedium (or a Consolation to Sick Poets)"
* "My Bliss"
* "Columbus Redivivus"
* "Sils-Maria"
* "A Dancing Song to the Mistral Wind"
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# The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche/Volume 10/The Fool's Dilemma

German original published 1887 as part of the second edition of The Joyful Wisdom ('La Gaya Scienza'). This translation published in 1910 as part of Oscar Levy's The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche volume 10.
Ah, what I wrote on board and wall
With foolish heart, in foolish scrawl,
I meant but for their decoration!
Yet say you, "Fools' abomination!
Both board and wall require purgation,
And let no trace our eyes appal!"   Well, I will help you, as I can,
For sponge and broom are my vocation,
As critic and as waterman.
But when the finished work I scan,
I'm glad to see each learned owl
With "wisdom" board and wall defoul.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche/Volume 10/The Boat of Mystery

German original published 1887 as part of the second edition of The Joyful Wisdom ('La Gaya Scienza'). This translation published in 1910 as part of Oscar Levy's The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche volume 10.
Yester-eve, when all things slept— Scarce a breeze to stir the lane—
I a restless vigil kept,
Nor from pillows sleep could gain,
Nor from poppies nor—most sure
Of opiates—a conscience pure.   Thoughts of rest I 'gan forswear,
Rose and walked along the strand.
Found, in warm and moonlit air,
Man and boat upon the sand,
Drowsy both, and drowsily
Did the boat put out to sea.
Passed an hour or two perchance,
Or a year? then thought and sense
Vanished in the engulfing trance
Of a vast Indifference.
Fathomless, abysses dread
Opened—then the vision fled.
Morning came: becalmed, the boat
Rested on the purple flood:
"What had happened?" every throat
Shrieked the question: "was there—Blood?"
Naught had happened! On the swell
We had slumbered, oh, so well!
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# The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche/Volume 10/In the South

German Original published 1887 as part of the second edition of The Joyful Wisdom ('La Gaya Scienza'). This translation published in 1910 as part of Oscar Levy's The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche volume 10.
I swing on a bough, and rest My tired limbs in a nest, In the rocking home of a bird, Wherein I perch as his guest, In the South!
I gaze on the ocean asleep, On the purple sail of a boat; On the harbour and tower steep, On the rocks that stand out of the deep, In the South!
For I could no longer stay, To crawl in slow German way; So I called to the birds, bade the wind Lift me up and bear me away To the South!
No reasons for me, if you please; Their end is too dull and too plain; But a pair of wings and a breeze, With courage and health and ease, And games that chase disease From the South!
Wise thoughts can move without sound, But I've songs that I can't sing alone; So birdies, pray gather around, And listen to what I have found
In the South!
"You are merry lovers and false and gay, "In frolics and sport you pass the day; "Whilst in the North, I shudder to say, "I worshipped a woman, hideous and gray, "Her name was Truth, so I heard them say, "But I left her there and I flew away "To the South!"
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