OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Old Cabin

THE OLD CABIN
In de dead of night I sometimes,  Git to t'inkin' of de pas' An' de days w'en slavery helt me  In my mis'ry—ha'd an' fas'. Dough de time was mighty tryin',  In dese houahs somehow hit seem Dat a brightah light come slippin'  Thoo de kivahs of my dream.
An' my min' fu'gits de whuppins  Draps de feah o' block an' lash An' flies straight to somep'n' joyful  In a secon's lightnin' flash. Den hit seems I see a vision  Of a dearah long ago Of de childern tumblin' roun' me  By my rough ol' cabin do'.
Talk about yo' go'geous mansions  An' yo' big house great an' gran', Des bring up de fines' palace  Dat you know in all de lan'. But dey's somep'n' dearah to me,  Somep'n' faihah to my eyes In dat cabin, less you bring me  To yo' mansion in de skies.
I kin see de light a-shinin'  Thoo de chinks atween de logs, I kin hyeah de way-off bayin'  Of my mastah's huntin' dogs, An' de neighin' of de hosses  Stampin' on de ol' bahn flo', But above dese soun's de laughin'  At my deah ol' cabin do'.
We would gethah daih at evenin',  All my frien's 'ud come erroun' An' hit wan't no time, twell, bless you,  You could hyeah de banjo's soun'. You could see de dahkies dancin'  Pigeon wing an' heel an' toe— Joyous times I tell you people  Roun' dat same ol' cabin do'.
But at times my t'oughts gits saddah,  Ez I riccolec' de folks, An' dey frolickin' an' talkin'  Wid dey laughin' an dey jokes. An' hit hu'ts me w'en I membahs  Dat I'll nevah see no mo' Dem ah faces gethered smilin'  Roun' dat po' ol' cabin do'.
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 Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Photograph

THE PHOTOGRAPH
See dis pictyah in my han'?  Dat's my gal; Ain't she purty? goodness lan'!  Huh name Sal. Dat's de very way she be— Kin' o' tickles me to see Huh a-smilin' back at me.
She sont me dis photygraph  Jes' las' week; An' aldough hit made me laugh—  My black cheek Felt somethin' a-runnin' queer; Bless yo' soul, it was a tear Jes' f'om wishin' she was here.
Often when I 's all alone  Layin' here, I git t'inkin' 'bout my own  Sallie dear; How she say dat I 's huh beau, An' hit tickles me to know Dat de gal do love me so.
Some bright day I 's goin' back,  Fo' de la! An' ez sho' 's my face is black,  Ax huh pa Fu' de blessed little miss Who 's a-smilin' out o dis Pictyah, lak she wan'ed a kiss!
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 Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Ol' Tunes

THE OL' TUNES
You kin talk about yer anthems  An' yer arias an' sich, An' yer modern choir-singin'  That you think so awful rich; But you orter heerd us youngsters  In the times now far away, A-singin' o' the ol' tunes  In the ol'-fashioned way.
There was some of us sung treble  An' a few of us growled bass, An' the tide o' song flowed smoothly  With its 'comp'niment o' grace; There was spirit in that music,  An' a kind o' solemn sway, A-singin' o' the ol' tunes  In the ol'-fashioned way.
I remember oft o' standin'  In my homespun pantaloons— On my face the bronze an' freckles  O' the suns o' youthful Junes— Thinkin' that no mortal minstrel  Ever chanted sich a lay As the ol' tunes we was singin'  In the ol'-fashioned way.
The boys 'ud always lead us,  An' the girls 'ud all chime in Till the sweetness o' the singin'  Robbed the list'nin' soul o' sin; An' I used to tell the parson  'T was as good to sing as pray, When the people sung the ol' tunes  In the ol'-fashioned way.
How I long ag'in to hear 'em  Pourin' forth from soul to soul, With the treble high an' meller,  An' the bass's mighty roll; But the times is very diff'rent,  An' the music heerd to-day Ain't the singin' o' the ol' tunes  In the ol'-fashioned way.
Little screechin' by a woman,  Little squawkin' by a man, Then the organ's twiddle-twaddle,  Jest the empty space to span,— An' ef you should even think it,  'T is n't proper fur to say That you want to hear the ol' tunes  In the ol'-fashioned way.
But I think that some bright mornin',  When the toils of life air o'er, An' the sun o' heaven arisin'  Glads with light the happy shore, I shall hear the angel chorus,  In the realms of endless day, A-singin' o' the ol' tunes  In the ol'-fashioned way.
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 Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Old Front Gate

THE OLD FRONT GATE
W'en daih 's chillun in de house,  Dey keep on a-gittin' tall; But de folks don' seem to see  Dat dey 's growin' up at all, 'Twell dey fin' out some fine day  Dat de gals has 'menced to grow, Wen dey notice as dey pass  Dat de front gate 's saggin' low.
Wen de hinges creak an' cry,  An' de bahs go slantin' down, You kin reckon dat hit's time  Fu' to cas' yo' eye erroun', 'Cause daih ain't no 'sputin' dis,  Hit's de trues' sign to show Dat daih 's cou'tin' goin' on  Wen de ol' front gate sags low.
Oh, you grumble an' complain,  An' you prop dat gate up right; But you notice right nex' day  Dat hit's in de same ol' plight. So you fin' dat hit's a rule,  An' daih ain' no use to blow, W'en de gals is growin' up,  Dat de front gate will sag low.
Den you t'ink o' yo' young days,  W'en you cou'ted Sally Jane, An' you so't o' feel ashamed  Fu' to grumble an' complain, 'Cause yo' ricerlection says,  An' you know hits wo'ds is so, Dat huh pappy had a time  Wid his front gate saggin' low.
So you jes' looks on an' smiles  At 'em leanin' on de gate, Tryin' to t'ink whut he kin say  Fu' to keep him daih so late, But you lets dat gate erlone,  Fu' yo' 'sperunce goes to show, 'Twell de gals is ma'ied off,  It gwine keep on saggin' low.
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 Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Phantom Kiss

THE PHANTOM KISS
One night in my room, still and beamless,  With will and with thought in eclipse, I rested in sleep that was dreamless;  When softly there fell on my lips
A touch, as of lips that were pressing  Mine own with the message of bliss— A sudden, soft, fleeting caressing,  A breath like a maiden's first kiss.
I woke-and the scoffer may doubt me—  I peered in surprise through the gloom; But nothing and none were about me,  And I was alone in my room.
Perhaps 't was the wind that caressed me  And touched me with dew-laden breath; Or, maybe, close-sweeping, there passed me  The low-winging Angel of Death.
Some sceptic may choose to disdain it,  Or one feign to read it aright; Or wisdom may seek to explain it—  This mystical kiss in the night.
But rather let fancy thus clear it:  That, thinking of me here alone, The miles were made naught, and, in spirit,  Thy lips, love, were laid on mine own.
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 Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Old Homestead

THE OLD HOMESTEAD
'Tis an old deserted homestead  On the outskirts of the town, Where the roof is all moss-covered,  And the walls are tumbling down; But around that little cottage  Do my brightest mem'ries cling, For 'twas there I spent the moments  Of my youth,—life's happy spring.
I remember how I used to  Swing upon the old front gate, While the robin in the tree tops  Sung a night song to his mate; And how later in the evening,  As the beaux were wont to do, Mr. Perkins, in the parlor,  Sat and sparked my sister Sue.
There my mother—heaven bless her!—  Kissed or spanked as was our need, And by smile or stroke implanted  In our hearts fair virtue's seed; While my father, man of wisdom,  Lawyer keen, and farmer stout, Argued long with neighbor Dobbins  How the corn crops would turn out.
Then the quiltings and the dances—  How my feet were wont to fly, While the moon peeped through the barn chinks  From her stately place on high. Oh, those days, so sweet, so happy,  Ever backward o'er me roll; Still the music of that farm life  Rings an echo in my soul.
Now the old place is deserted,  And the walls are falling down; All who made the home life cheerful,  Now have died or moved to town. But about that dear old cottage  Shall my mem'ries ever cling, For 'twas there I spent the moments  Of my, youth,—life's happy spring.
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 Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Path

THE PATH
There are no beaten paths to Glory's height, There are no rules to compass greatness known; Each for himself must cleave a path alone, And press his own way forward in the fight. Smooth is the way to ease and calm delight, And soft the road Sloth chooseth for her own; But he who craves the flower of life full-blown, Must struggle up in all his armor dight! What though the burden bear him sorely down And crush to dust the mountain of his pride, Oh, then, with strong heart let him still abide; For rugged is the roadway to renown, Nor may he hope to gain the envied crown, Till he hath thrust the looming rocks aside.
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/Poems/Sonnet 1

SONNET I.
To his friend Maister R. L. In praise of Musique and Poetrie.
If Musique and sweet Poetrie agree, As they must needes (the Sister and the Brother) Then must the Loue be great, twixt thee and mee, Because thou lou'st the one, and I the other. Dowland to thee is deare; whose heauenly tuch Vpon the Lute, doeth rauish humaine sense: Spenser to mee; whose deepe Conceit is such, As passing all Conceit, needs no defence. Thou lou'st to heare the sweete melodious sound, That Phœbus Lute (the Queene of Musique) makes: And I in deepe Delight am chiefly drownd. When as himselfe to singing he betakes. One God is God of Both (as Poets faigne) One Knight loues Both, and Both in thee remaine.
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Preface

PREFACE.
The Introduction (§ III. Editorial) gives all the information that seemed to be required as to our reproduction of these Poems of Richard Barnfield—this, the spelling of his last title-page (1605) and of his Will, preferably to Barnefeild and other variations, being adopted—now for the first time collected; but, inasmuch as for the mere nothing of biographic fact hitherto furnished concerning him, we have the satisfaction of pretty fully elucidating and illustrating his Life (§ I. Biographical), it must be permitted us to thank here various friends who have greatly aided us in the task of love. Foremost among these is Miss C. S. Burne, Loynton Hall, Newport, Shropshire, whose indefatigable intelligence in exploring every available source of information cannot be sufficiently commended. Hearty acknowledgments are similarly due to the Incumbents of St. Michael's, Stone (Rev. Eldred Woodland, M.A.), and of Norbury (Rev. Thomas Burne, M.A.), and Colonel Chester of Bermondsey, for communication of Register entries and other items. To the Rev. W. E. Buckley, M.A., of Middleton Cheney, Banbury, I am indebted for the use of ​various rare books and for useful references and suggestions, as well as for the pains he has taken in drawing up the tabular-statement of the Barnfield and Skrymsher Pedigrees from my materials. To the Custodians of the unique or extremely rare originals in Sion College Library, London, and the Bodleian, Oxford; and Sir Charles H. Isham, Bart. Lamport Hall, Northampton, we would offer our best thanks for the use of their several treasures. The Notes and Illustrations at close, as in nearly all our works on our early literature, are not a little indebted to Dr. Brinsley Nicholson, Woodlands Road, Redhill.
In our critical examination of Mr. J. P. Collier's erroneous (attempted) withdrawal of "As it fell upon a day," &c., from Barnfield, effective aid has been found in Mr. Charles Edmonds's most valuable and careful Introduction to his charming little fac-simile (in his Isham Reprints) of the 1593 Venus and Adonis. The fac-similes of the original title-pages and of Barnfield's autograph and monogram, and of the arms from a Harleian MS. (1241), may be accepted as literally faithful. Other points are elsewhere noticed.
ALEXANDER B. GROSART.
St. George's Vestry, Blackburn, Lancashire.
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/The Affectionate Shepheard

I. THE AFFECTIONATE SHEPHEARD. 1594.
Note.—The original title-page of "The Affectionate Shepheard," &c., is given opposite in fac-simile. Our text is from the copy preserved in Sion College Library. A comparison will reveal that, independent of its mutilations, our revision of the "Percy Society" reprint has not been without advantage.—G.
THE AFFECTIONATE SHEPHEARD.
CONTAINING THE COMPLAINT OF DAPHNIS FOR THE LOUE OF GANYMEDE.
Amor plus mellis, quam fellis, est.
LONDON,
Printed by Iohn Danter for T. G. and E. N., and are to bee sold in Saint Dunstones
Church-yeard in Fleetstreet.
1594.
* Dedication
* The Teares of an Affectionate Shepheard Sicke for Loue
* The Second Dayes Lamentation of the Affectionate Shepherd
* The Shepheards Content
* Sonnet
* The Complaint of Chastitie
* Hellens Rape
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/The Affectionate Shepheard/Dedication

TO THE RIGHT EXCELLENT AND MOST BEAUTIFULL LADY, THE LADIE PENELOPE RITCH.
Fayre louely Ladie, whose Angelique eyes Are Vestall Candles of sweet Beauties Treasure, Whose speech is able to inchaunt the wise, Converting Ioy to Paine, and Paine to Pleasure; Accept this simple Toy of my Soules Dutie, Which I present vnto thy matchles Beautie.
And albeit the gift be all too meane, Too meane an offring for thine ivorie shrine; Yet must thy Beautie my iust blame susteane, Since it is mortall, but thy selfe diuine. Then (Noble Ladie) take in gentle worth This new-borne Babe which here my Muse brings forth.
Your Honours most affectionate
and perpetually deuoted Shepheard:
DAPHNIS.
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Poems/An Epitaph vpon the Death of his Aunt, Mistresse Elizabeth Skrymsher

AN EPITAPH VPON THE DEATH OF HIS AUNT, MISTRESSE ELIZABETH SKRYMSHER.
LOE here beholde the certaine Ende, of euery liuing wight: No Creature is secure from Death, for Death will haue his Right. He spareth none: both rich and poore, both young and olde must die; So fraile is flesh, so short is Life, so sure Mortalitie. When first the Bodye liues to Life, the soule first dies to sinne: And they that loose this earthly Life, a heauenly Life shall winne, If they liue well: as well she liv'd, that lyeth Vnder heere; Whose Vertuous Life to all the Worlde, most plainly did appeere. Good to the poore, friend to the rich, and foe to no Degree: A President of modest Life, and peerelesse Chastitie. Who louing more, Who more belov'd, of euerie honest mynde? Who more to Hospitalitie, and Clemencie inclinde Then she? that being buried here, lyes wrapt in Earth below; From whence wee came, to whom wee must, and bee as shee is now, A Clodd of Clay: though her pure soule in endlesse Blisse doeth rest; loving all Ioy, the Place of Peace, preparod for the blest: Where holy Angells sit and sing, before the King of Kings; Not mynding worldly Vanities, but onely heavenly Things. Vnto which Ioy, Vnto which Blisse, Vnto which Place of Pleasure, God graunt that wee may come at last, t'inioy that heauenly Treasure. Which to obtaine, to liue as shee hath done let us endeuor; That we may liue with Christ himselfe (above) that liues for euer.
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Poems/An Ode

AN ODE.
AS it fell vpon a Day, In the merrie Month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade, Which a groue of Myrtles made, Beastes did leape, and Birds did sing, Trees did grow, and Plants did spring: ​Euery thing did banish mone, Saue the Nightingale alone. Shee (poore Bird) as all forlorne, Leand her Breast vp-till a Thorne, And there sung the dolefulst Ditty, That to heare it was great Pitty. Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry Teru Teru, by and by: That to heare her so complaine. Scarce I could from Teares refraine: Por her griefes so liuely showne. Made me thinke vpon mine owne. Ah (thought I) thou mournst in vaine; None takes Pitty on thy paine: Senslesse Trees, they cannot heere thee; Buthlesse Beares, they will not cheer thee. King Pandion, hee is dead: All thy friends are lapt in Lead. All thy fellow Birds doe singe, Carelesse of thy sorrowing. Whilst as fickle Fortune smilde, Thou and I, were both beguilde. Euerie one that flatters thee, Is no friend in miserie: Words are easie, like the winde; Faithfull friends are hard to finde: Euerie man will bee thy friend, Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend: But if store of Crownes be scant, No man will supply thy want. ​If that one be prodigall, Bountifull, they will him call: And with such-like flattering, Pitty but hee were a King. If he bee adict to vice, Quickly him, they will intice. If to Woemen hee be bent, They haue at Commaundement. But if Fortune once doe frowne, Then farewell his great renowne: They that fawnd on him before, Vse his company no more. Hee that is thy friend indeed, Hee will helpe thee in thy neede: If thou sorrowe, hee will weepe; If thou wake, hee cannot sleepe: Thus of euerie griefe, in hart Hee, with thee, doeth beare a Part. These are certaine signes, to knowe Faithfull friend, from flatt'ring foe.
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Poems/An Epitaph vpon the Death, of Sir Philip Sidney, Knight: Lord-Gouernour of Vlising

AN EPITAPH VPON THE DEATH, OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY, KNIGHT: LORD-GOUERNOUR OF VLISING.
THAT England lost, that Learning lov'd, that euery mouth commended, That fame did prayse, that Prince did rayse, that Countrey so defended, Here lyes the man: lyke to the Swan, who knowing shee shall die, Doeth tune her voice vnto the Spheares, and scomes Mortalitie. Two worthie Earls his vncles were; a Lady was his Mother; A Knight his father; and himselfe a noble Countesse Brother. Belov'd, bewaild; aliue, now dead; of all, with Teares for euer; Here lyes Sir Philip Sidneis Corps, whom cruell Death did seuer. He liv'd for her, hee dyde for her; for whom he dyde, he liued: O graunt (O God) that wee of her may neuer be depriued.
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Poems/Dedication

To the learned, and accomplisht Gentleman, Maister Nicholas Blackleech, of Grayes Inne.
To you, that know the tuch of true Conceat; (Whose many gifts I neede not to repeat) I write these Lines: fruits of vnriper yeares; Wherein my Muse no harder censure feares: Hoping in gentle Worth, you will them take; Not for the gift but for the giuers sake.
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Poems/Sonnet 2

SONNET II.
Against the Dispraysers of Poetrie.
Chaucer is dead; and Gower lyes in graue; The Earle of Surrey, long agoe is gone; Sir Philip Sidneis soule, the Heauens haue; George Gascoigne him beforne, was tomb'd in stone. Yet, tho their Bodies lye full low in ground, (As euery thing must dye, that earst was borne) Their liuing fame, no Fortune can confound; Nor euer shall their Labours be forlorne. And you, that discommend sweete Poetrie, (So that the Subiect of the same be good) Here may you see, your fond simplicitie; Sith Kings haue fauord it, of royall Blood. The King of Scots (now liuing) is a Poet, As his Lepatno, and his Furies shoe it.
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Poems/Written, at the Request of a Gentleman, vnder a Gentlewomans Picture

WRITTEN, AT THE REQUEST OF A GENTLEMAN, VNDER A GENTLEWOMANS PICTURE.
Even as Apelles could not paint Campaspes face aright. Because Campaspes Sun-bright eyes did dimme Apelles sight: Euen so, amazed at her sight, her sight, all sights excelling, Like Nyobe the Painter stoode, her sight his sight expelling: Thus Art and Nature did contend, who should the Victor bee. Till Art by Nature was supprest, as all the worlde may see.
# The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Harris, Thaddeus William

Edition of 1920. See also Thaddeus William Harris on Wikipedia, and the disclaimer.
HARRIS, Thaddeus William, American entomologist: b. Dorchester, Mass., 12 Nov. 1795; d. Cambridge. Mass, 16 Jan. 1856. He was graduated at Harvard College in 1815, studied medicine and practised his profession in Milton, Mass., until appointed librarian of Harvard in 1891. This position he occupied until his death. Early in life he exhibited a fondness for natural history, and though plodding alone, attained to a scientific eminence which secured for him the fellowship of all the principal learned societies of America, and of many abroad. For several years he gave instruction in botany and general natural history in the college, and originated the Harvard Natural History Society for the students. He was chiefly distinguished, however, as an entomologist, and has been surpassed as such by no one in the United States. He was one of the founders of the Massachusetts Horticultural Society. In 1837 he was appointed one of the commissioners for a zoological and botanical survey of Massachusetts, the result of which was his ‘Systematic Catalogue of the Insects of Massachusetts’ (1832), in which 2,350 species are enumerated. He also published ‘A Treatise on some of the Insects of New England which are Injurious to Vegetation’ (1842), a work of permanent value.