OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems of Experience/Resurrection

Pausing a moment ere the day was done, While yet the earth was scintillant with light, I backward glanced. From valley, plain, and height, At intervals, where my life-path had run, Rose cross on cross; and nailed upon each one Was my dead self. And yet that gruesome sight Lent sudden splendour to the falling night, Showing the conquests that my soul had won.
Up to the rising stars I looked and cried, ‘There is no death! for year on year, re-born I wake to larger life: to joy more great, So many times have I been crucified, So often seen the resurrection morn, I go triumphant, though new Calvaries wait.
# Poems of Experience/See?

If one proves weak who you fancied strong,  Or false who you fancied true, Just ease the smart of your wounded heart  By the thought that it is not you!
If many forget a promise made,  And your faith falls into the dust, Then look meanwhile in your mirror and smile,  And say, ‘I am one to trust!’
If you search in vain for an ageing face  Unharrowed by fretful fears, Then make right now (and keep) a vow  To grow in grace with the years.
If you lose your faith in the word of man  As you go from the port of youth, Just say as you sail, ‘I will not fail  To keep to the course of truth!’
For this is the way, and the only way -  At least so it seems to me. It is up to you, to be, and do,  What you look for in others. See?
# Poems of Experience/Summer's Farewell

All in the time when Earth did most deplore  The cold, ungracious aspect of young May, Sweet Summer came, and bade him smile once more;  She wove bright garlands, and in winsome play  She bound him willing captive. Day by day She found new wiles wherewith his heart to please;  Or bright the sun, or if the skies were gray, They laughed together, under spreading trees, By running brooks, or on the sandy shores of seas.
They were but comrades. To that radiant maid  No serious word he spake; no lovers’ plea. Like careless children, glad and unafraid,  They sported in their opulence of glee.  Her shining tresses floated wild and free; In simple lines her emerald garments hung;  She was both good to hear, and fair to see; And when she laughed, then Earth laughed too, and flung His cares behind him, and grew radiant and young.
One golden day, as he reclined beneath  The arching azure of enchanting skies, Fair Summer came, engirdled with a wreath  Of gorgeous leaves all scintillant with dyes.  Effulgent was she; yet within her eyes, There hung a quivering mist of tears unshed.  Her crimson-mantled bosom shook with sighs; Above him bent the glory of her head; And on his mouth she pressed a splendid kiss, and fled.
# Poems of Experience/The Birth of Jealousy

With brooding mien and sultry eyes, Outside the gates of Paradise Eve sat, and fed the faggot flame That lit the path whence Adam came. (Strange are the workings of a woman’s mind.)
His giant shade preceded him, Along the pathway green, and dim; She heard his swift approaching tread, But still she sat with drooping head. (Dark are the jungles of unhappy thought.)
He kissed her mouth, and gazed within Her troubled eyes; for since their sin, His love had grown a thousand fold. But Eve drew back; her face was cold. (Oh, who can read the cipher of a soul.)
‘Now art thou mourning still, sweet wife?’ Spake Adam tenderly, ‘the life Of our lost Eden? Why, in thee All Paradise remains for me.’ (Deep, deep the currents in a strong man’s heart.)
Thus Eve: ‘Nay, not lost Eden’s bliss I mourn; for heavier woe than this Wears on me with one thought accursed. In Adam’s life I am not first. (O woman’s mind! what hells are fashioned there.)
‘The serpent whispered Lilith’s name: (’Twas thus he drove me to my shame) Pluck yonder fruit, he said, and know, How Adam loved her, long ago. (Fools, fools, who wander searching after pain.)
‘I ate; and like an ancient scroll, I saw that other life unroll; I saw thee, Adam, far from here With Lilith on a wondrous sphere. (Bold, bold, the daring of a jealous heart.)
‘Nay, tell me not I dreamed it all; Last night in sleep thou didst let fall Her name in tenderness; I bowed My stricken head and cried aloud. (Vast, vast the torment of a self-made woe.)
‘And it was then, and not before, That Eden shut and barred its door. Alone in God’s great world I seemed, Whilst thou of thy lost Lilith dreamed. (Oh, who can measure such wide loneliness.)
‘Now every little breeze that sings, Sighs Lilith, like thy whisperings. Oh, where can sorrow hide its face, When Lilith, Lilith, fills all space?’ (And Adam in the darkness spake no word.)
# Poems of Experience/The Hymn of the Republic

I have listened to the sighing of the burdened and the bound, I have heard it change to crying, with a menace in the sound; I have seen the money-getters pass unheeding on the way, As they went to forge new fetters for the people day by day.
Then the voice of Labour thundered forth its purpose and its need, And I marvelled, and I wondered, at the cold dull ear of greed; For as chimes, in some great steeple, tell the passing of the hour, So the voices of the people tell the death of purchased power.
All the gathered dust of ages, God is brushing from His book; He is opening up its pages, and He bids His children look; And in shock and conflagration, and in pestilence and strife, He is speaking to the nations, of the brevity of life.
Mother Earth herself is shaken by our sorrows and our crimes; And she bids her sons awaken to the portent of the times; With her travail pains upon her, she is hurling from their place All the minions of dishonour, to admit the Coming Race.
By the voice of Justice bidden, she has torn the mask from might; All the shameful secrets hidden, she is dragging into light; And whoever wrongs his neighbour must be brought to judgment now, Though he wear the badge of Labour, or a crown upon his brow.
There is growth in Revolution, if the word is understood; It is one with Evolution, up from self, to brotherhood; He who utters it unheeding, bent on self, or selfish gain, His own day of doom is speeding, though he toil, or though he reign.
God is calling to the masses, to the peasant, and the peer; He is calling to all classes, that the crucial hour is near; For each rotting throne must tremble, and fall broken in the dust, With the leaders who dissemble, and betray a people’s trust.
Still the voice of God is calling; and above the wreck I see, And beyond the gloom appalling, the great Government-to-Be.
From the ruins it has risen, and my soul is overjoyed, For the school supplants the prison, and there are no ‘unemployed.’
And there are no children’s faces at the spindle or the loom; They are out in sunny places, where the other sweet things bloom; God has purified the alleys, He has set the white slaves free, And they own the hills and valleys in this Government to-Be.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Poems of Experience/The Awakening

I love the tropics, where sun and rain Go forth together, a joyous train, To hold up the green, gay side of the world, And to keep earth’s banners of bloom unfurled.
I love the scents that are hidden there By housekeeper Time, in her chests of air: Strange and subtle and all a-rife, With vague lost dreams of a bygone life.
They steal upon you by night and day, But never a whiff can you take away: And never a song of a tropic bird Outside of its palm-decked land is heard.
And nowhere else can you know the sweet Soft, ‘joy-in-nothing,’ that comes with the heat Of tropic regions. And yet, and yet, If in evergreen worlds my way were set
I would span the waters of widest seas To see the wonder of waking trees; To feel the shock of sudden delight That comes when the orchard has changed in a night, From the winter nun to the bride of May, And the harp of Spring is attuned to play The wedding march, and the sun is priest, And the world is bidden to join the feast.
Oh, never is felt in a tropic clime, Where the singing of birds is a ceaseless chime, That leap o’ the blood, and the rapture thrill, That comes to us here, with the first bird’s trill; And only the eye that has looked on snows Can see the beauty that lies in a rose. The lure of the tropics I understand, But ho! for the Spring in my native land.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Poems of Experience/The Empty Bowl

I held the golden vessel of my soul And prayed that God would fill it from on high. Day after day the importuning cry Grew stronger - grew, a heaven-accusing dole Because no sacred waters laved my bowl. 'So full the fountain, Lord, wouldst Thou deny The little needed for a soul’s supply? I ask but this small portion of Thy whole.' Then from the vast invisible Somewhere, A voice, as one love-authorised by Him, Spake, and the tumult of my heart was stilled. 'Who wants the waters must the bowl prepare; Pour out the self, that chokes it to the brim, But emptied vessels, from the source are filled.'
# Poems of Experience/The Goal

All roads that lead to God are good;  What matters it, your faith, or mine;  Both centre at the goal divine Of love’s eternal Brotherhood.
The kindly life in house or street;  The life of prayer, and mystic rite;  The student’s search for truth and light; These paths at one great junction meet.
Before the oldest book was writ,  Full many a prehistoric soul  Arrived at this unchanging goal, Through changeless love, that led to it.
What matters that one found his Christ  In rising sun, or burning fire;  If faith within him did not tire, His longing for the truth sufficed.
Before our ‘Christian’ hell was brought  To edify a modern world,  Full many a hate-filled soul was hurled In lakes of fire by its own thought.
A thousand creeds have come and gone;  But what is that to you or me?  Creeds are but branches of a tree, The root of love lives on and on.
Though branch by branch proves withered wood,  The root is warm with precious wine;  Then keep your faith, and leave me mine; All roads that lead to God are good.
# Poems of Experience/The London "Bobby"

A TRIBUTE TO THE POLICEMEN OF ENGLAND’S CAPITAL
Here in my cosy corner,  Before a blazing log, I’m thinking of cold London  Wrapped in its killing fog; And, like a shining beacon  Above the picture grim, I see the London ‘Bobby,’  And sing my song for him.
I see his stalwart figure,  I see his kindly face, I hear his helpful answer  At any hour or place. For, though you seek some by-way  Long miles from his own beat, He tells you all about it,  And how to find the street.
He looks like some bold Viking,  This king of earth’s police - Yet in his voice lies feeling,  And in his eye lies peace; He knows and does his duty -  (What higher praise is there?) And London’s lords and paupers  Alike receive his care.
He has a regal bearing,  Yet one that breathes repose; It is the look and manner  Of one who thinks and knows. Oh, men who govern nations,  In old worlds or in new, Turn to the London ‘Bobby’  And learn a thing or two.
# Poems (1898)/First and Last

This poem was not included in Mrs. Coates' collected Poems (1916, in 2 vols.).
FIRST AND LAST
Hope smiles a welcome, if no other smiles, Upon our entrance to this world of pain; And on each purpose of our youth again, With an inspiring sympathy, she smiles. She leads us forth to battle, and beguiles Our anguish when the long fight proves in vain; Till, pierced by countless wounds, amongst the slain We leave her, while the victor foe reviles. But even as we touch at ruin's verge, And hear the voices of despair that urge The fatal plunge to chaos, Hope alone,— How healèd and how ransomed none may guess,— Rising again in pallid loveliness, Resumes her sway, a thousand times o'erthrown.
# Poems (1898)/Homeward

HOMEWARD
When I come to my Father's house he will hear me: I shall not need With words implore Compassion at my Father's door; With yearning mute my heart will plead, And my Father's heart will hear me.
One thought all the day hath still caressed me: Though cloud o'ercast Is the way I go, Though steep is the hill I must climb, yet, oh, When evening falls and the light is past, At my Father's house I will rest me!
For thither,—whatsoe'er betide me, Howe'er I stray, Beset by fears, Wearied by effort, or blinded by tears,— Ah, surely I shall find my way, Though none there be to guide me!
# Poems (1898)/Du Maurier

DU MAURIER
Two rocked his infant cradle as he slept, And crooned for him their native lullabies. One gave her sense of beauty to his eyes, One taught his heart her smiles, the tears she wept. Each made him love her as the child his home, And, mother-wise, reclaimed his wandering glance: Beloved England and beloved France,— Each drew him, though, afar, he could not come. In his imagination, fleur-de-lis And English daisy blossomed side by side, And dreams were his, lost transports to renew. Half exiled wheresoe'er he chanced to be, Like migrant birds his thoughts went soaring wide, Wooed onward by the vision of the True!
# Poems (1898)/Ditty: "My True Love's Eyes"

DITTY: MY TRUE-LOVE'S EYES
My true-love's eyes are a surprise To put an end to ranging; They vary so,—come weal, come woe,— One can but watch their changing!
Sometimes they shine with light divine,— Twin deeps where moonbeams hover,— Anon they seem like stars agleam, With laughter brimming over.
My true-love's mouth is as the south In time of blossom, sunny; A rose, in death, bequeathed it breath, And bees have lent it honey.
But oh, her heart is still the art, The magic fresh and living, That wins the free her slaves to be By its own gift of giving!
# Poems (1898)/Dryad Song

DRYAD SONG
When the wolds of Lycaeus are silvery fair, When Maenalian forests are doubtful and dim, When the hound strains the leash and the wolf quits his lair, And the startled fawn flies from the fountain's cool rim; When with panting delight we impatiently follow The shuddering stags over hillock and hollow,— A form from the shadows comes bounding out, And we know it is Pan by his horrid shout.
A form from the shadows comes bounding out, At head of the Satyrs' impetuous rout, And we know it is Pan, we know it is Pan, We know it is Pan by his horrid shout!
When hidden with Dian in deep woodland bower, We loosen her quiver, her sandals unbind, Bathe her beautiful feet in the pearl-trickling shower, Pellucid and pure; when we deftly enwind The silvery fillet that clasps and caresses The wonder and wealth of her shadowy tresses,— ​A face through the pleachèd blooms stealthily peers, And we know it is Pan by his furry ears.
A face through the pleachèd blooms stealthily peers, Makes mouths to affright us, then mocks at our fears, And we know it is Pan, we know it is Pan, We know it is Pan by his furry ears!
When, shunning the shafts of Apollo at noon, To the kindly green coverts we thankfully creep, Athirst for fresh runnels, and ready to swoon,— Oft, sudden we come to one fallen asleep: Fallen asleep midst the tangles and grasses That trip up the confident clown as he passes, And fearful we peep at the form supine, For we know it is Pan, though he makes no sign.
And fearful we peep at the form supine, With the hoofs of a goat and the brow divine, For we know it is Pan, we know it is Pan, We know it is Pan, though he makes no sign!
When the shepherds are gone from the sunset hills, When evening is mildest in dingle and dale, Through the hush comes a sound that enraptures and thrills, ​Light wafted along on the tremulous gale: So passionate-sweet, so wildly out-welling, That Landon hears it with bosom swelling. We listen and sigh,—sigh and listen again, For we know it is Pan by that melting strain!
We listen and sigh,—sigh and listen again, While the lithe reeds quiver as if in pain,— For we know it is Pan, we know it is Pan, We know it is Pan by that melting strain!
# Poems (1898)/Greatness

GREATNESS
Midst noble monuments, alone at eve I wandered, reading records of the dead,— In spite of praise forgotten past recall; And near, so sheltered one might scarce perceive, I found a lowly headstone, and I read The word upon it: Hawthorne—that was all.
# Poems (1898)/Didst Thou Rejoice?

DIDST THOU REJOICE?
Didst thou rejoice because the day was fair,— Because, in orient splendor newly dressed, On flowering glebe and bloomless mountain-crest The sun complacent smiled? Ah! didst thou dare The careless rapture of that bird to share Which, soaring toward the dawn from dewy nest, Hailed it with song? From Ocean's treacherous breast Didst borrow the repose mild-mirrored there? Thou foolish heart! Behold! the light is spent; Rude thunders shake the crags; songs timorous cease; Lo! with what moan and mutinous lament Ocean his pent-up passions doth release! O thou who seekest sure and fixed content, Search in thy soul: there find some source of peace.
# Poems (1898)/Easter

EASTER
I know the Summer fell asleep Long weary months ago; Heaped high above her grave I saw The heavy winter snow; Say, sparrow, then, what word you bring; Is it her requiem you sing?
The meadow lark is mute, the wren Forgets his late abode, No throstle answering fluteth near, Yet never prelude flowed From ivied bosk or verdant slope More brimming with delight and hope!
I, listening, seem to see the blooms That were whilom so dear, And voices loved and silent long I, listening, seem to hear; And longings in my breast confer, And sweet, prophetic pulses stir.
"Thou lonely one," they seem to say, "Lost Summer shall return; ​Wreathed in her shadowy tresses shall The roses blissful burn; Wan lilies at her feet shall lie, And wind-flowers on her bosom sigh.
"Here, from this rough and lowly bed, The little celandine Shall lift her sunny glances to The balmy eglantine; And flags shall flaunt by yonder lake, And fair Narcissus there awake."
I know the Summer fell asleep Long weary months ago; But ah! all is not lost, poor heart, That's laid beneath the snow; There wait, grown cold to care and strife, Things costliest, dying into life:
All changes, but Life ceases not With the suspended breath; There is no bourne to Being, and No permanence in Death; Time flows to an eternal sea, Space widens to Infinity!
# Poems (1898)/Friends to Virtue

FRIENDS TO VIRTUE
"The gods whom we all belong to are the gods we belong to whether we will or no."
Into the theatre they came— "Motley 's the only wear!" Children of poverty, of shame, Of folly, of despair.
Elbowing rudely, Jill and Jack, A nearer view to win, Youths, men, and women, white and black, Pell-mell, they jostled in.
A wretched place of poor resort, Far from the world polite, Few pennies bought the meagre sport So fruitful of delight,
And gazing there, each brutish face, The godlike stamp resigned, A tablet seemed whereon disgrace Had written thoughts unkind.
​"And what," I mused, "will now be fed To cater to their mood Who, as their looks bespeak, have said,— 'Evil, be thou my good'?
"Order will surely be reversed, Judgment will disappear, The tricks of knaves will be rehearsed To catch the plaudits here!"
Yet as I watched the varied throng, My theories took flight, For, lo, they still condemned the wrong, They still approved the right!
The "villain" by his better art Surprised from them no praise; They frankly took the hero's part, Awarding him the bays;
For they, unlike the wise of earth, Slight tribute paid to skill,— Anhungered for a higher worth, Lovers of virtue still!
# Poems (1898)/He and I

HE AND I
He and I,—and that was all,— The boundless world had grown so small: So small, so narrow in content, So single in possession sweet, So personal, so love-complete, So still, so eloquent!
He and I,—and Earth made new! The flowers blossomed for us two, And birds, to voice our rapture, sung Divinely 'neath our northern skies, As sung the birds in Paradise When life and love were young!
He and I,—O aching heart!— Only a narrow grave apart! Yet seeking for his face in vain, How changed, to me, the world has grown; How cold it seems, how strange, how lone, How infinite in pain!
# Pomona v. Sunset Telephone & Telegraph Company

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
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United States Supreme Court
224 U.S. 330
Pomona v. Sunset Telephone & Telegraph Company
Argued: March 14 and 15, 1912. --- Decided: April 8, 1912
Messrs. John W. Shenk, William J. Carr, J. W. Joos, J. P. Wood, Leslie R. Hewitt, W. B. Mathews, Robert G. Loucks, and C. W. Guerin for appellants.
[Argument of Counsel from pages 331-337 intentionally omitted]
Messrs. Alfred Sutro and E. S. Pillsbury for appellee.
[Argument of Counsel from pages 337-342 intentionally omitted]
Mr. Justice Holmes delivered the opinion of the court:

## Notes

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

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Pomegranate Seeds."
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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.
* "The Pomegranate Seeds," by Nathaniel Hawthorne in Tanglewood Tales (1853)
* Pomegranate Seed (1912) by Edith Wharton
* "The Pomegranate Seeds," by Nathaniel Hawthorne in Tanglewood Tales (1921)
# Pomeroy's Lessee v. State Bank of Indiana/Opinion of the Court

* Court Documents
* Case Syllabus
* Opinion of the Court
United States Supreme Court
68 U.S. 23
Pomeroy's Lessee v. State Bank of Indiana
I am instructed by the court to announce it to be its opinion that there can be no abatement of the case upon the counsel's suggestion, as it is declared in the charter of the bank, that though its charter should continue as such until the first day of January, 1859, and that all its banking powers should cease after the first day of January, 1857; that it should have all the 'necessary and incidental powers to collect and close up its business,' within which we deem the rights of the plaintiff in this court to be comprehended.
MOTION REFUSED.

## 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 (Craik)/A Child's Smile

A CHILD'S SMILE.
"For I say unto you, that in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven."
# Poems of Nature (Thoreau)/Mist

MIST
Low-anchored cloud, Newfoundland air, Fountain-head and source of rivers, Dew-cloth, dream-drapery, And napkin spread by fays; Drifting meadow of the air, Where bloom the daisied banks and violets, And in whose fenny labyrinth The bittern booms and heron wades; Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers,— Bear only perfumes and the scent Of healing herbs to just men's fields.
# Poems of Nature (Thoreau)/My Prayer

MY PRAYER
Great God, I ask thee for no meaner pelf Than that I may not disappoint myself; That in my action I may soar as high As I can now discern with this clear eye.
And next in value, which thy kindness lends, That I may greatly disappoint my friends, Howe'er they think or hope that it may be, They may not dream how thou 'st distinguished me.
That my weak hand may equal my firm faith, And my life practise more than my tongue saith; ​That my low conduct may not show, Nor my relenting lines, That I thy purpose did not know, Or overrated thy designs.
Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press
# Poems of Nature (Thoreau)/Nature

NATURE
O Nature! I do not aspire To be the highest in thy quire,— To be a meteor in the sky, Or comet that may range on high; Only a zephyr that may blow Among the reeds by the river low; Give me thy most privy place Where to run my airy race.
In some withdrawn, unpublic mead Let me sigh upon a reed, Or in the woods, with leafy din, Whisper the still evening in: ​Some still work give me to do,— Only—be it near to you!
For I'd rather be thy child And pupil, in the forest wild, Than be the king of men elsewhere, And most sovereign slave of care: To have one moment of thy dawn, Than share the city's year forlorn.