OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Autumn Rivulets/Unfolded Out of the Folds

UNFOLDED OUT OF THE FOLDS.
Unfolded out of the folds of the woman man comes unfolded, and is always to come unfolded, Unfolded only out of the superbest woman of the earth is to come the superbest man of the earth, Unfolded out of the friendliest woman is to come the friendliest man, Unfolded only out of the perfect body of a woman can a man be form'd of perfect body, ​Unfolded only out of the inimitable poems of woman can come the poems of man, (only thence have my poems come;) Unfolded out of the strong and arrogant woman I lave, only thence can appear the strong and arrogant man I love, Unfolded by brawny embraces from the well-muscled woman I love, only thence come the brawny embraces of the man, Unfolded out of the folds of the woman's brain come all the folds of the man's brain, duly obedient, Unfolded out of the justice of the woman all justice is unfolded, Unfolded out of the sympathy of the woman is all sympathy; A man is a great thing upon the earth and through eternity, but every jot of the greatness of man is unfolded out of woman; First the man is shaped in the woman, he can then be shaped in himself.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Autumn Rivulets/Wandering at Morn

WANDERING AT MORN.
Wandering at morn, Emerging from the night from gloomy thoughts, thee in my thoughts, Yearning for thee harmonious Union! thee, singing bird divine! Thee coil'd in evil times my country, with craft and black dismay, with every meanness, treason thrust upon thee, This common marvel I beheld—the parent thrush I watch'd feeding its young, The singing thrush whose tones of joy and faith ecstatic, Fail not to certify and cheer my soul.
​There ponder'd, felt I, If worms, snakes, loathsome grubs, may to sweet spiritual songs be turn'd, If vermin so transposed, so used and bless'd may be, Then may I trust in you, your fortunes, days, my country; Who knows but these may be the lessons fit for you? From these your future song may rise with joyous trills, Destin'd to fill the world.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Autumn Rivulets/To A Pupil

TO A PUPIL.
Is reform needed? is it through you? The greater the reform needed, the greater the Personality you need to accomplish it.
You! do you not see how it would serve to have eyes, blood, complexion, clean and sweet? Do you not see how it would serve to have such a body and soul that when you enter the crowd an atmosphere of desire and command enters with you, and every one is impress'd with your Personality?
O the magnet! the flesh over and over! Go, dear friend, if need be give up all else, and commence to-day to inure yourself to pluck, reality, self-esteem, definiteness, elevatedness, Rest not till you rivet and publish yourself of your own Personality.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Autumn Rivulets/To Him That was Crucified

TO HIM THAT WAS CRUCIFIED.
My spirit to yours dear brother, Do not mind because many sounding your name do not understand you, I do not sound your name, but I understand you, I specify you with joy O my comrade to salute you, and to salute those who are with you, before and since, and those to come also, That we all labor together transmitting the same charge and succession, We few equals indifferent of lands, indifferent of times, We, enclosers of all continents, all castes, allowers of all theologies, Compassionaters, perceivers, rapport of men, We walk silent among disputes and assertions, but reject not the disputers nor any thing that is asserted, We hear the bawling and din, we are reach'd at by divisions, jealousies, recriminations on every side, They close peremptorily upon us to surround us, my comrade, Yet we walk unheld, free, the whole earth over, journeying up and down till we make our ineffaceable mark upon time and the diverse eras, Till we saturate time and eras, that the men and women of races, ages to come, may prove brethren and lovers as we are.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Autumn Rivulets/Who Learns My Lesson Complete

WHO LEARNS MY LESSON COMPLETE?
Who learns my lesson complete? Boss, journeyman, apprentice, churchman and atheist, The stupid and the wise thinker, parents and offspring, merchant, clerk, porter and customer, Editor, author, artist, and schoolboy—draw nigh and commence; It is no lesson—it lets down the bars to a good lesson, And that to another, and every one to another still.
The great laws take and effuse without argument, I am of the same style, for I am their friend, I love them quits and quits, I do not halt and make salaams.
I lie abstracted and hear beautiful tales of things and the reasons of things, They are so beautiful I nudge myself to listen.
I cannot say to any person what I hear—I cannot say it to myself—it is very wonderful.
It is no small matter, this round and delicious globe moving so exactly in its orbit for ever and ever, without one jolt or the untruth of a single second, I do not think it was made in six days, nor in ten thousand years, nor ten billions of years, Nor plann'd and built one thing after another as an architect plans and builds a house.
​I do not think seventy years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that years will ever stop the existence of me, or any one else.
Is it wonderful that I should be immortal? as every one is immortal; I know it is wonderful, but my eyesight is equally wonderful, and how I was conceived in my mother's womb is equally wonderful, And pass'd from a babe in the creeping trance of a couple of summers and winters to articulate and walk—all this is equally wonderful.
And that my soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other without ever seeing each other, and never perhaps to see each other, is every bit as wonderful.
And that I can think such thoughts as these is just as wonderful, And that I can remind you, and you think them and know them to be true, is just as wonderful.
And that the moon spins round the earth and on with the earth, is equally wonderful, And that they balance themselves with the sun and stars is equally wonderful.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Autumn Rivulets/With All Thy Gifts

WITH ALL THY GIFTS.
With all thy gifts America, Standing secure, rapidly tending, overlooking the world, Power, wealth, extent, vouchsafed to thee—with these and like of these vouchsafed to thee, What if one gift thou lackest? (the ultimate human problem never solving,) The gift of perfect women fit for thee—what if that gift of gifts thou lackest? The towering feminine of thee? the beauty, health, completion, fit for thee? The mothers fit for thee?
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 141/Issue 1822/Spring

Winter has risen to bid his gruff good-bye.  I feel the first warm touches of the sun,  As of a mother’s hand when work is done. I hear the first lark’s anthem in the sky; I watch the great white clouds go flying by;  I note the flowers awaking one by one;  And soft airs whisper, "Summer is begun!" O how the soul leaps up exultingly,  As it would break its heavy prison-bar!  And man seems dearer, God seems nearer, far, For this is truth, deny it how we may, —  That light and darkness make us what we are, We are the creatures of our moods, and they Are creatures of the clear or cloudy day.
 Dresden
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 143/Issue 1842/First and Last

Originally published in Sunday Magazine.
Thy "little lamb" once more!  My Lord, my life, my rest, Borne in thine arms the wide world o'er,  A lamb upon thy breast.
Thy sheep across the waste  Were wandering far and wide, And after them my heart would baste  To bring them to thy side.
Thy lambs were weak and faint,  I could but give my best; Feebly I sought to still the plaint,  And bear them on my breast.
Great Shepherd of the sheep!  The sheep are thine, not mine! Thou thy great flock wilt surely keep,  And each one lamb of thine.
Ever, the wide waste o'er,  A lamb upon thy breast! Thy lost thou seekest evermore,  I seek, with thee, and rest.
A lamb upon thy breast,  Still learning what thou art, — Our Lord, our life, our strength, our rest!  Borne on thy changeless heart.
····· Thy "little lamb" once more  My Lord, my life, my rest; Borne in thine arms the dark flood o'er,  A lamb upon thy breast!
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 143/Issue 1842/Importunity

Originally published in Good Words.
Importunity
He standeth knocking at the door:  "O Lord! how long? how long?  Weeping, thy patience I adore,  And yet the bars are strong: Lord, draw them for me, for my hand is weak, The night is chill. Enter thou till the streak Of ruddy morning flush the day's young cheek!"
 He standeth knocking, knocking still;  "Sweet, pleading voice, I hear,"  The mist is rolling from the hill,  The fourth slow watch is near: Through the small lattice I beheld his face, In the cold starlight, full of pitying grace, Yet - how to guest him, in so mean a place?
 He standeth knocking, knocking loud!  Yes! for the timbers creak:  Eastward there low'rs an angry cloud;  "Sweet Saviour, hear me speak; Oh, bide not there to feel the drenching rain! I bid thee welcome; but in grief and pain Tell thee, my strength against these bars is vain."
 He standeth knocking, knocking oft,  The day of grace wears on,  The chiding spirit whispers soft,  "Perchance he may be gone While thou still lingerest." "Not the bars alone Keep thee out, Lord: against the door is thrown Sand-bags of care and hoarded gains and stone."
 He standeth knocking, knocking faint;  "Blest Saviour, leave me not;  But let me tell thee my complaint,  The misery of my lot, And let me sweep the floor thy feet must press, Deck myself royally for thy caress, Make myself worthy, ere thou stoop to bless!"
 He standeth knocking, knocking still;  "Lord, help me in my doubt,  Must I put forth this feeble will  To draw thee from without? Then help my weakness." Hear each stern bar give, The door flies backward: he but whispers "Live!" While on his patient breast I, weeping, plead "Forgive!"
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 143/Issue 1842/The Song of a Summer Stream

Originally published in Sunday Magazine.

## The Song of a Summer Stream

A few months ago  I was singing through the snow, Though the dead, brown boughs gave no hope of summer shoots;  And my persevering fall  Seemed to be no use at all, For the hard, hard frost would not let me reach the roots.
 Then the mists hung chill  All along the wooded hill, And the cold, sad fog through my lonely dingles crept;  I was glad I had no power  To awake one tender flower To a sure, swift doom! I would rather that it slept.
 Still I sang all alone,  In the sweet old summer tone, For the strong, white ice could not hush me for a day;  Though no other voice was heard,  Save the bitter breeze that whirred Past the gaunt, gray trunks on its wild and angry way.
 So the dim days sped,  While everything seemed dead, And my own poor flow seemed the only living sign;  And the keen stars shone,  When the freezing night came on, From the far, far heights, all so cold and crystalline.
 A few months ago,  I was singing through the snow! But now the blessed sunshine is filling all the land!  And the memories are lost  Of the winter fog and frost In the presence of the summer with her full and glowing hand.
 Now the woodlark comes to drink  At my cool and pearly brink, And the lady-fern is bending to kiss my rainbow foam;  And the wild-rose buds entwine  With the dark-leaved bramble vine, And the centuried oak is green around the bright-eyed squirrel’s home.
 Oh, the full and glad content  That my little song is blent With the all-melodious mingling of the choristers around!  I no longer sing alone,  Through a chill, pervading moan, For the very air is trembling with its wealth of summer sound.
 Though the hope seemed long deferred  Ere the south wind’s whisper heard, Gave a promise of the passing of the weary winter days;  Yet the blessing was secure,  For the summer-time was sure, When the lonely songs are gathered in a mighty choir of praise.
# Maggio v. Zeitz Luma Camera Service

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
333 U.S. 56
Maggio v. Zeitz Luma Camera Service
Argued: Oct. 13, 1947. --- Decided: Feb 9, 1948
[Syllabus from pages 56-58 intentionally omitted]
Mr. Max Schwartz, of Brooklyn, N.Y., for petitioner.
Mr. Joseph Glass, of New York City, for respondent.
Mr. Justice JACKSON 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
# Maggie May

* information about this edition.
* related portals: Song lyrics.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, Wikidata item.
A traditional folk song about a thieving prostitute in Liverpool, England.
Now you jolly sailor lads, come listen to my tale, I'm sure you will have cause to pity me, I was a damned young fool in the port of Liverpool, When I called there on my first port home from sea.   Oh Maggie, Maggie May They have taken her away To slave upon Van Dieman's cruel shore. Oh, you robbed so many whalers, and dosed so many sailors But you'll never cruise 'round Peter Street no more.   I was staying at the Home, from a voyage to Sierre Leone, And two-pound-ten a month was all my pay, As I jingled with my tin, I was easy taken in, By a little girl up there called Maggie May.   When I steered into her I hadn't got a care, I was cruising up and down old Canning Place, She was dressed in a gown so fine, like a frigate of the line, And being a sailorman, gave chase.   She gave me a saucy nod, and I, like a farmer's clod, Let her take me line abreast in tow, And under all plain sail, we ran before the gale And to the Crow's Nest Tavern we did go.   Next morning when I woke, I found that I was broke, I hadn't got a penny to me name, So I had to pop me suit, me John L.s and me boots, Down in Park Lane pawn shop number nine.
Oh you thieving Maggie May, you robbed me of me pay When I slept with you last night ashore, Oh guilty the jury found her, of robbing a homeward bounder And she'll never roll down Park Lane [Peter Street, Paradise Street] no more
  She was chained and sent away from Liverpool one day, The lads all cheered as she sailed down the bay, And every sailor lad, he only was too glad To see the old whore out to Botany Bay.
This work was published before January 1, 1929 and is anonymous or pseudonymous due to unknown authorship. It is in the public domain in the United States as well as countries and areas where the copyright terms of anonymous or pseudonymous works are 95 years or less since publication.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 138/Issue 1782/The Forget-me-not

* THE FORGET-ME-NOT.
* Mark the forget-me-not by yon brookside.
* Its roots the mud, its stem the waters hide;
* Its blossoms seek the sky.
* So, though thy feet be rooted in earth's slime,
* Raise thou thy head above the waves of time —
* Look up on high!
* See how the blossoms, earthward-bent awhile,
* Turn as they ope to meet the sun's bright smile,
* And, as they upward gaze,
* First flush with pink, then mirror heaven's own blue,
* And every flow'ret bears, of sunny hue,
* A crown of rays.
* O thou whose thoughts are fixed on this world's toys,
* Look up to Him from whom are all thy joys.
* The beatific sight
* Will change thee till the human grow divine,
* And at the last upon thy brow shall shine
* A crown of light.
* Sunday Magazine.Margaret Cox.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 138/Issue 1781

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XXIII. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1781. — August 3, 1878. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXXVIII. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | The Constitution of Norway, | Fraser's Magazine, | 259 |
| II. | A Doubting Heart. By Miss Keary, author of "Castle Daly," "Oldbury," etc. Part III., | Advance Sheets, | 268 |
| III. | Our Kentish Parish, | Blackwood's Magazine, | 281 |
| IV. | Cheap Literature for Village Children, | Macmillan's Magazine, | 296 |
| V. | Stray Thoughts on Scenery, | Cornhill Magazine, | 304 |
| VI. | American Missions in Turkey, | Fraser's Magazine, | 313 |
| VII. | The Bishops at Lambeth, | Saturday Review, | 316 |
| VIII. | How Three Princesses Purchased a Palace, | Pall Mall Gazette, | 318 |
| IX. | The Will of Peter the Great, | Academy, | 320 |
POETRY. :
| Barry Cornwall, | 258 | Two Schoolboys, | 258 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 138/Issue 1780/Deserted

* DESERTED.
* A briery lane, where wild birds sing
* All through the summer day;
* A beech-tree old, whose branches fling
* Long shadows o'er the way.
* A nest, built up in the rustling boughs,
* Lined soft with moss, so green,
* A tiny dwelling — a woodland house,
* With leaves for a sheltering screen.
* Three delicate eggs, that pearl-like lie
* Beneath two brooding wings,
* A mate that hovers all watchful by,
* Or sits beside, and sings.
* A careless boy, with a pitiless heart,
* That cares not for lovely things;
* A bird, that rises with timid start,
* On scared and fluttering wings.
* A sorrowful note of plaint and woe
* Rings out on the quiet air,
* And the pearl-like eggs lie crushed below,
* On the beech-roots, old and bare.
* And still, in the boughs of the old beech-tree,
* 'Mid its rustling sprays of green,
* The deserted nest, you still may see
* Peep out from its verdant screen.
* But the bird on its gay and gladsome wing
* Returns to the nest no more;
* And the mate that would sit on the boughs and sing,
* His summer songs are o'er.
* And nought can bring from the happy past
* When light and love have fled
* (Though the walls of the dear old home may last),
* But memories of the dead.
* Chambers' Journal.J. C. H.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 138/Issue 1781/Barry Cornwall

* BARRY CORNWALL.
* In the garden of death, where the singers whose names are deathless
* One with another make music unheard of men,
* Where the dead sweet roses fade not of lips long breathless,
* And the fair eyes shine that shall weep not or change again,
* Who comes now crowned with the blossom of snow-white years?
* What music is this that the world of the dead men hears?
* Beloved of men, whose words on our lips were honey,
* Whose name in our ears and our fathers' ears was sweet,
* Like summer gone forth of the land his songs made sunny,
* To the beautiful veiled bright world where the glad ghosts meet,
* Child, father, bridegroom and bride, and anguish and rest,
* No soul shall pass of a singer than this more blest.
* Blest for the years' sweet sake that were filled and brightened,
* As a forest with birds, with the fruit and the flower of his song;
* For the souls' sake blest that heard, and their cares were lightened,
* For the hearts' sake blest that have fostered his name so long;
* By the living and dead lips blest that have loved his name,
* And clothed with their praise and crowned with their love for fame.
* Ah, fair and fragrant his fame as flowers that close not,
* That shrink not by day for heat or for cold by night,
* As a thought in the heart shall increase when the heart's self knows not,
* Shall endure in our ears as a sound, in our eyes as alight;
* Shall wax with the years that wane and the seasons' chime,
* As a white rose thornless that grows in the garden of time.
* The same year calls, and one goes hence with another,
* And men sit sad that were glad for their sweet songs' sake;
* The same year beckons, and elder with younger brother
* Takes mutely the cup from his hand that we all shall take.
* They pass ere the leaves be past or the snows be come;
* And the birds are loud, but the lips that out-sang them dumb.
* Time takes them home that we loved, fair names and famous,
* To the soft long sleep, to the broad sweet bosom of death;
* But the flower of their souls he shall take not away to shame us,
* Nor the lips lack song forever that now lack breath.
* For with us shall the music and perfume that die not dwell,
* Though the dead to our dead bid welcome, and we farewell.
* Swinburne.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 138/Issue 1782

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XXIII. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1782. — August 10, 1878. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXXVIII. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | Giordano Bruno and Galileo Galilei, | Quarterly Review, | 323 |
| II. | A Doubting Heart. By Miss Keary, author of "Castle Daly," "Oldbury," etc. Part IV., | Advance Sheets, | 340 |
| III. | Among the Burmese, | Fraser's Magazine, | 354 |
| IV. | The Story of a Letter. By Julia Kavanagh, | Argosy, | 366 |
| V. | What the Sun is Made of. By J. Norman Lockyer, | Nineteenth Century, | 374 |
| VI. | Seeing the Princess, | Saturday Review, | 381 |
| VII. | Admiral Sir George Back, | Nature, | 384 |
POETRY. :
| Studies from the Antique, | 322 | The Forget-me-not, | 322 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 138/Issue 1783

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XXIII. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1783. — August 17, 1878. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXXVIII. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | The Saracens in Italy, | Westminster Review, | 387 |
| II. | Macleod of Dare. By William Black. Part XIII., | Advance Sheets, | 397 |
| III. | L'Ecole Francaise at Athens and at Rome. By Rev. W. Wolfe Capes, | Fraser's Magazine, | 404 |
| IV. | Within the Precincts. By Mrs. Oliphant. Part XI., | Advance Sheets, | 411 |
| V. | Letters of Coleridge, Southey, and Lamb to Matilda Betham, | Fraser's Magazine, | 416 |
| VI. | Davos in Winter, | Fortnightly Review, | 426 |
| VII. | A Doubting Heart. By Miss Keary, author of "Castle Daly," "Oldbury," etc. Part V., | Advance Sheets, | 434 |
| VIII. | A Water Arrival in India, | Good Words, | 442 |
| IX. | Some Curiosities in Letter-Writing, | Chambers' Journal, | 446 |
POETRY. :
| Molly Trefusis, | 386 | The Prayer of St. Chrysostom, | 386 |