OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Pictures & poems/The Portrait

The Portrait
THE PORTRAIT
O LORD of all compassionate control,
O Love! let this my lady's picture glow
Under my hand to praise her name, and show
Even of her inner self the perfect whole:
That he who seeks her beauty's furthest goal,
Beyond the light that the sweet glances throw
And refluent wave of the sweet smile, may know
The very sky and sea-line of her soul.
Lo! it is done. Above the enthroning throat
The mouth's mould testifies of voice and kiss,
The shadowed eyes remember and foresee.
Her face is made her shrine. Let all men note
That in all years (O Love, thy gift is this!)
They that would look on her must come to me.
# Pictures & poems/Venus Verticordia

Venus Verticordia
VENUS VERTICORDIA
SHE hath the apple in her hand for thee,
Yet almost in her heart would hold it back;
She muses, with her eyes upon the track
Of that which in thy spirit they can see.
Haply, "Behold, he is at peace," saith she;
"Alas! the apple for his lips,—the dart
That follows its brief sweetness to his heart,—
The wandering of his feet perpetually!"
A little space her glance is still and coy,
But if she give the fruit that works her spell,
Those eyes shall flame as for her Phrygian boy.
Then shall her bird's strained throat the woe foretell,
And her far seas moan as a single shell,
And through her dark grove strike the light of Troy.
# Pictures & poems/Mary's Girlhood

The Girlhood of Mary, Virgin
and
"Ecce Ancilla Domini!"
MARY'S GIRLHOOD
I
THIS is that blessed Mary, pre-elect
God's Virgin. Gone is a great while, and she
Dwelt young in Nazareth of Galilee.
Unto God's will she brought devout respect,
Profound simplicity of intellect,
And supreme patience. From her mother's knee
Faithful and hopeful; wise in charity;
Strong in grave peace; in pity circumspect.
So held she through her girlhood; as it were
An angel-watered lily, that near God
Grows and is quiet. Till, one dawn at home
She woke in her white bed, and had no fear
At all,—yet wept till sunshine, and felt awed:
Because the fullness of the time was come.
II
These are the symbols. On that cloth of red
I' the centre is the Tripoint: perfect each,
Except the second of its points, to teach
That Christ is not yet born. The books—whose head
Is golden Charity, as Paul hath said—
Those virtues are wherein the soul is rich:
Therefore on them the lily standeth, which
Is Innocence, being interpreted.
The seven-thorn'd briar and the palm seven-leaved
Are her great sorrow and her great reward.
Until the end be full, the Holy One
Abides without. She soon shall have achieved
Her perfect purity: yea, God the Lord
Shall soon vouchsafe His Son to be her Son.
"Ecce Ancilla Domini!"
# Pictures From Italy

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
PICTURES FROM ITALY.
BY
CHARLES DICKENS.
The Vignette Illustrations on Wood, by Samuel Palmer.
The Street of the Tombs: Pompeii.
LONDON:
PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR,
BY BRADBURY & EVANS, WHITEFRIARS.
MDCCCXLVI.
LONDON: BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
CONTENTS.
| | page |
| the reader's passport | 1 |
| going through france | 5 |
| lyons, the rhone, and the goblin of avignon | 17 |
| avignon to genoa | 30 |
| genoa and its neighbourhood | 38 |
| to parma, modena, and bologna | 84 |
| through bologna and ferrara | 98 |
| an italian dream | 107 |
| by verona, mantua, and milan, across the pass of the simplon into switzerland | 120 |
| to rome by pisa and siena | 144 |
| rome | 165 |
| a rapid diorama— | |
| to naples | 233 |
| naples | 237 |
| pompeii—herculaneum | 243 |
| pæstum | 247 |
| vesuvius | 248 |
| return to naples | 255 |
| monte cassino | 261 |
| florence | 265 |
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
# Pictures & poems/Pandora

Pandora
PANDORA
WHAT of the end, Pandora? Was it thine,
The deed that set these fiery pinions free?
Ah! wherefore did the Olympian consistory
In its own likeness make thee half divine?
Was it that Juno's brow might stand a sign
For ever and the mien of Pallas be
A deadly thing? and that all men might see
In Venus' eyes the gaze of Proserpine?
What of the end? These beat their wings at will,
The ill-born things, the good things turned to ill,—
Powers of the impassioned hours prohibited.
Aye, clench the casket now! Whither they go
Thou mayst not dare to think: nor canst thou know
If Hope still pent there be alive or dead.
# Poems (Hale)/A Mother's Counsel

A MOTHER'S COUNSEL.
"Whatever weakens your reason, impairs the tenderness of your conscience, obscures your sense of God, or takes off the relish of spiritual things; in short, whatever increases the strength and authority of your body over your mind, that thing is sin to you, however innocent it may be in itself."
The Mother of John Wesley
# Poems (Lewis)/Laura Vindicated

LAURA VINDICATED.
TO A FRIEND.
# Poems (Lewis)/Hope and Fear

HOPE AND FEAR.
# Poems (Lewis)/Delia to Edmund

DELIA TO EDMUND.
WRITTEN AT A LADY'S DESIRE, IN ANWSER TO THE FOLLOWING STANZAS BY P. PINDAR.
ANSWER.
# Poems (Lewis)/Lines on returning from the Funeral of the Right Hon. C. J. Fox

LINES
Written on returning from the Funeral of the
RIGHT HON. C. J. FOX,
Friday, October 10, 1806.
ADDRESSED TO LORD HOLLAND.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$
* ↑ Hastings' Trial.
* ↑ The American War.
* ↑ His efforts to abolish the Slave-Trade; in which He had succeeded so far as to prevent more vessels from being employed in this traffic.
* ↑ Westminster Abbey.
* ↑ Alluding to the difference of opinion between Lord Fitzwilliam and Mr. Fox respecting the French Revolution.
* ↑ His unfinished History of James the Second.
* ↑ His efforts to procure the repeal of the Test Act.
* ↑ On his death-bed Mr. Fox frequently expressed his anxiety for the restoration of Peace.
* ↑ Great fears were entertained, that Mr. Fox's death would occasion the continuance of the Slave-Trade; but these apprehensions fortunately proved unfounded.
# Poems (Lewis)/Lines written on a Journey

LINES WRITTEN ON A JOURNEY.
# Poems (Lewis)/Nanine, or the Emigrant

NANINE,
OR,
THE EMIGRANT.
# Poems (Lewis)/On Excess

ON EXCESS.
# Poems (Lewis)/Crazy Jane

CRAZY JANE.
# Poems (Lewis)/Love at Sale

POEMS.
LOVE AT SALE.
(The Idea is taken from a Greek Epigram.)
# Poems (Lewis)/Love and his Enemy

LOVE AND HIS ENEMY.
[IMITATED FROM FONTENELLE.]
# Poems (Rossetti, 1901)

POEMS
POEMS
BY
CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI
NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION
London
MACMILLAN AND CO, Limited
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1901
All rights reserved
First complete edition printed November 1890 Reprinted December 1890, January 1891, August 1891, 1892, 1894, 1895, 1896, 1897, 1899, 1901
TO
MY MOTHER,
IN ALL REVERENCE AND LOVE,
I INSCRIBE THIS BOOK.
CONTENTS.
THE FIRST SERIES.
Printed by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh.
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 (Ripley)/Two Children Asleep

POEMS
# Poems (Lewis)

POEMS.
POEMS.
BY M. G. LEWIS, ESQ.
London:
PRINTED BY D. N. SHURY, BERWICK STREET, SOHO,
AND SOLD BY
Hatchard, 190, Piccadilly.
1812.
ADVERTISEMENT.
I have selected from a great mass of Verses such as appeared to myself and my Friends to be the least discreditable to their Author: I have endeavoured to remove such faults as were pointed out to me; and indeed have bestowed more time on their improvement, than such trifles can possibly be worth. I now print them, more that I may have the pleasure of giving them to those few friends, whose partiality will make them blind to their defects, than from any hope that their merits can recommend them to unprejudiced judges.
M. G. LEWIS.
The Albany, December 9, 1811.
CONTENTS
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 (Lewis)/Advertisements

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
SHURY, PRINTER, BERWICK STREET, LONDON.
# Poems (Lewis)/Address to Youth

ADDRESS TO YOUTH.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Ancient Monument

THE ANCIENT MONUMENT.
There's a lion under thy feet, Sir Knight, And over thy head an escutcheon bright, And group'd around, with mournful mien, Kneeling kindred and friends are seen: From some, old Time hath cloven the head, Or the arm of marble away hath shred, But thou, in thy perfect state art there, With cuirass buckled, and forehead bare, And pale hands lifted and clasp'd in prayer.
Where were the fields of thy proud career? What were the deeds of thy glittering spear? With thy good war-steed and thy helmed head, Didst thou trample on heaps of the quivering dead? Was thy banner on Syrian plains display'd? Did it flame in the van of the red crusade? Didst thou quaff thy cup of foaming wine, And boldly lead the embattled line To the leaguer'd gates of Palestine?
What was the price of thy warrior fame? What was the cost of thy mighty name? Did innocent blood profusely spilt Tinge thy coat of mail with the hue of guilt? Stern wert thou to thy vassal train? Dead to the moaning of want and pain?
Lo! the dust of the peasant is sleeping free 'Neath the holy shade of the church-yard tree: Baron bold! is it well with thee?
I see on the scroll by thy couch of sleep, The name of the Saviour engraven deep: Was that thy chart when the sunbeam smiled? Was that thine anchor when storms were wild? When the shaft of the Spoiler had pierced thy heart, Did it win the grief from that poison-dart? Then, till the dawn of the day of doom, Till the trump of the angel shall break the gloom, Rest in the peace of the Christian's tomb.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Sleeping Child

SLEEPING CHILD.
Sleep, dearest, long and sweet,  With smile upon thy brow, Thy restless, tottering feet  Are surely weary now, Trotting about all day  Upon the nursery-floor, Or happier still to play Among the wild-flowers gay  Beside thy father's door.
Thy little laughing eyes,  How tranquilly they rest, Thy tiny fingers clasp'd  Upon thy guiltless breast, While o'er thy placid face  The stealing moonbeams fall, And with a heaven-taught grace Thy baby features trace  Upon the shaded wall.
Sleep, dearest! She whose ear  Her nursing-infant's sigh Hath never waked to hear  When midnight's hush was nigh,
Ne'er felt its balmy kiss  The cradle-care repay, Hath she not chanced to miss The deepest, purest bliss  That cheers life's pilgrim-way?
To see each budding power  Thy Maker's goodness bless, To catch the manna-shower  Of thy full tenderness, The immortal mind to train—
 No more divine employ Thy mother seeks to gain, Until her spirit drain  The seraph cup of joy.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Aged Bishop

THE AGED BISHOP.
A scene at the closing of a Convention in Virginia, by the venerable Bishop Moore.
They cluster'd round, that listening throng,  The parting hour drew nigh, And heighten'd feeling, deep and strong,  Spoke forth from eye to eye;
For reverend in his hoary years,  A white-robed prelate bent, And trembling pathos wing'd his words,  As to the heart they went.
With saintly love he urged the crowd  Salvation's hope to gain, While, gathering o'er his furrow'd cheek,  The tears fell down like rain;
He waved his hand, and music woke  A warm and solemn strain, His favourite hymn swell'd high, and fill'd  The consecrated fane.
Then from the hallow'd chancel forth,  With faltering step, he sped, And fervent laid a father's hand  On every priestly head,
And breathed the blessing of his God.  And, full of meekness, said, "Be faithful in your Master's work  When your old bishop's dead.
"For more than fifty years, my sons,  A Saviour's love supreme Unto a sinful world, hath been  My unexhausted theme;
"Now, see, the blossoms of the grave  Are o'er my temples spread, Oh! lead the seeking soul to Him  When your old bishop's dead."
Far waned the holy Sabbath-eve  On toward the midnight hour, Before the spellbound throng retired  To slumber's soothing power;
Yet many a sleeper, mid his dream,  Beheld in snowy stole That patriarch-prelate's bending form,  Whose accents stirr'd the soul.
In smiles the summer morn arose,  And many a grateful guest, Forth from those hospitable domes,  With tender memories, press'd,
While o'er the broad and branching bay,  Which like a heart doth pour A living tide, in countless streams,  Through fair Virginia's shore,
O'er Rappahannock's fringed breast,  O'er rich Potomac's tide, Or where the bold, resistless James  Rolls on, with monarch-pride,
The boats that ask nor sail nor oar,  With speed majestic glide, And many a thoughtful pastor leans  In silence o'er their side,
And, while he seems to scan the flood  In silver 'neath him spread, Revolves the charge, "Be strong for God  When your old bishop's dead."
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Beautiful Child

THE BEAUTIFUL CHILD.
Fair child, whose gem of genius burn'd  In beauty's purest gold enshrined, On whom the eye of strangers turn'd  With wonder and delight combined,
Whose tender, tuneful voice doth keep  Fresh echo while long seasons roll, As music, though the lute-strings sleep,  Still lingereth in the master's soul,
We will not say how early fled!  Nor, darkly murmuring, mark thy date, Though Grief's most bitter tear be shed,  And home's fond temple desolate;
For life is long that fills the round  Which Heaven's own finger brightly traced, And many a form that age hath crown'd  Must leave that circle unembraced.
But thine eternal life, how blest!  O let its radiant image be A watch-light in the parents' breast,  Till joyful they ascend to thee.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Deep

THE DEEP.
I fain would be thy pupil, mighty Deep! Yet speak thou gently to me, for I fear Thy lifted terror, and I would not learn The lesson that doth make the mariner So deadly pale.  My mother Earth doth teach An easy lore. She likes to speak of man. Her levell'd mountains and her cultured vales, Town, tower, and temple, and triumphal arch, All speak of man, and moulder while they speak. But of whose architecture and design Tell thine eternal fountains, when they rise To combat with the clouds, or when they fall? Of whose strong culture speak thy sunless plants, And groves and gardens, which no mortal eye Hath seen and lived?  What sculptor's art hath wrought Those coral monuments and tombs of pearl, Where sleeps the sea-boy, mid a pomp that earth Denies her buried kings?  Whose science stretch'd The simplest line to curb thy monstrous tide, And, writing "Hitherto" upon the sand, Bade thy mad surge respect it?  From whose loom Comes forth thy drapery, that ne'er waxeth old?
Who hath thy keys, thou deep? Who taketh note Of all thy wealth? Who numbereth the host That make their bed with thee? What eye doth scan Thy secret annal, from creation lock'd Fast in those dark, illimitable cells, Which he who visited hath ne'er return'd To commune with the living?  One reply! Do all thine echoing depths and tossing waves Make but one answer? of that One Dread Name Which he who deepest graves within his heart Is wisest, though the world may call him fool?
Therefore I come, a listener to thy voice, And bow me at thy feet, and touch my lip To thy cool billow, if perchance my soul, That fleeting wanderer on these shores of time, May, by thy voice instructed, learn of God.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Sonnet

SONNET.
Pride, take thy mingled cup. The treacherous world  Hath dregg'd it for thee, though her smile was bright; Yea, when her lip with promised joy was curl'd,  She falsely mingled myrrh and aconite;
And mid thy revels in thy lofty halls,  A sever'd hand, with fingers pale and still, Wrote "Mene—Mene—Tekel" on thy walls,  But yet repine not, thou hast had thy will;
The sparkling foam, from earth's enchantments born,  Didst thou not choose it for thy daily draught? And didst thou not the poor in spirit scorn,  Who with unswerving step and chasten'd thought   Held on the "narrow way," mid rock and thorn, And duly bow'd the knee unto the manger-born?
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Church Bell

THE CHURCH BELL.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Statue of the Spinning Girl

STATUE OF THE SPINNING GIRL,
AT CHATSWORTH, THE SEAT OF THE DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE.
Spin on, most beautiful.  There's none to mock Thy simple labour here. Majestic forms Of high renown, and brows of classic grace, Whose sculptured features speak the breathing soul, Rise in illustrious ranks, but not to scorn Thy lowly toil.  Even so it was of old, That woman's hand, amid the elements Of patient industry and household good, Reproachless wrought, twining the slender thread From the light distaff, or in skilful loom Weaving rich tissues, or with glowing tints Of rich embroidery, pleased to decorate The mantle of her lord. And it was well; For in such shelter'd and congenial sphere Content with duty dwelt.  Yet few there are, Sweet Filatrice, who in their earnest task Find such retreat as thine, mid lordly halls, And sparkling fountains, and umbrageous trees, And parks far stretching, where the antler'd deer Forget the hound and horn.  And we, who roam Mid all this grand enchantment—proud saloons,
And galleries radiant with the gems of art And genius, ravish'd from the grasp of time— And princely chapel, uttering praise to God— Or lose ourselves amid the wildering maze Of plants, and flowers, and blossoms, breathing forth Their eloquence to Him—delighted lay This slight memorial at thy snowy feet.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Butterfly

THE BUTTERFLY.
# Poems (Sherwin)

POEMS.
BY ELIZABETH SHERWIN.
APRIL, 1851.
WOLVERHAMPTON: PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY JOSEPH BRIDGEN , DARLINGTON-STREET, LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL AND CO., STATIONER'S HALL.
PREFACE.
It is with considerable diffidence that I offer the present Volume for publication; but, as it has been prepared for the Press at a time when my mind was labouring under a series of bereavements, i trust my friends will judge me favourably.
THE AUTHOR.
* To april
* Mortality
* Early prayer
* The thunder storm
* To piety
* And let us not be weary
* A teacher's address to her pupils
* The sisters
* But the wisdom that is from above is first pure
* To a weeping friend
* Lines on the approach of death
* Lines
* The drunkard's wife
* Lines on visiting overbury wood, near Bredon, Worcestershire
* A soft answer turneth away wrath
* Time and beauty
* The house of god
* Be kindly affectioned one to another
* Ever faithful
* Remarks on the education of the poor
* Lines on a recent melancholy event
* A request
* Love's broken spell
* Hope and disappointment
* Lines accompanying a present
* To Phœbe after a quarrel
* Time's on the wing
* To-morrow
* The voice I love
* Soliloqy on hearing a church bell
* Epitaph
* Thou art inexcusable
* 105th psalm, 1st verse
* Superstition
* Knowledge
* The wild woods and valleys
* Qualities my friend should possess
* Stanza
* Life's frail bark is tempest toss'd
* To the absent one
* The star of friendship
* To lilia
* The error
* Spring
* The good minister
* The sister's good-night
* To a dear friend
* Collin Ramsey
* Evening song of spring
* Lay of an isolated one
* God's kind care for all
* Age
* Friendship
* The omnipresent
* Dreams
* Lines written in a country town
* The hour of prayer
* The nightingale and the pig
* The friends I love
* Why art thou cast down
* The poor italian boy
* Naked I came out
* Sun-rise
* All things pass away
* Nine verses of the nineteenth chapter of corinthians
LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS
to
MRS. SHERWIN'S POEMS.
1851.
WOLVERHAMPTON: J. BRIDGEN, PRINTER, DARLINGTON STREET.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Poems (Seeger)/front matter

POEMS
BY
ALAN SEEGER
LETTERS AND DIARY OF ALAN SEEGER
"The fine spirit of Alan Seeger has been revealed to us in his poems, in lines which can never be forgotten and which we had thought had reached the very climax of inspired expression. But as a disclosure of the man himself this simple prose surpasses them.... It would, indeed, be difficult to imagine a more direct and simple narration of facts than this."—N. Y. Tribune.
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
# Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/The Mushroom

​144 POEMS.
XXV.
THE MUSHROOM.
THE mushroom is the elf of plants,
At evening it is not;
At morning in a truffled hut
It stops upon a spot
As if it tarried always;
And yet its whole career.
Is shorter than a snake's delay,
And fleeter than a tare.
'T is vegetation's juggler,
The germ of alibi;
Doth like a bubble antedate,
And like a bubble hie.
I feel as if the grass were pleased
To have it intermit;
The surreptitious scion
Of summer 's circumspect.
Had nature any outcast face,
Could she a son contemn,
Had nature an Iscariot,
That mushroom, - it is him.
# Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/The Forgotten Grave

XLI.
THE FORGOTTEN GRAVE.
AFTER a hundred years Nobody knows the place,— Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace.
Weeds triumphant ranged, Strangers strolled and spelled At the lone orthography Of the elder dead.
Winds of summer fields Recollect the way,— Instinct picking up the key Dropped by memory.
# Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/The Letter

V.
THE LETTER.
"GOING to him! Happy letter! Tell him — Tell him the page I did n't write; Tell him I only said the syntax, And left the verb and the pronoun out. Tell him just how the fingers hurried, Then how they waded, slow, slow, slow; And then you wished you had eyes in your pages, So you could see what moved them so.
"Tell him it was n't a practised writer, You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled; You could hear the bodice tug, behind you, As if it held but the might of a child; You almost pitied it, you, it worked so. Tell him -- No, you may quibble there, For it would split his heart to know it, And then you and I were silenter.
"Tell him night finished before we finished, And the old clock kept neighing 'day!' And you got sleepy and begged to be ended — What could it hinder so, to say? Tell him just how she sealed you, cautious, But if he ask where you are hid Until to-morrow,— happy letter! Gesture, coquette, and shake your head!"
# Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/The Lost Jewel

XV.
THE LOST JEWEL.
I HELD a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy; I said: "'T will keep."
I woke and chid my honest fingers,— The gem was gone; And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own.
# Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/The Humming-Bird

XV.
THE HUMMING-BIRD
A ROUTE of evanescence With a revolving wheel; A resonance of emerald, A rush of cochineal; And every blossom on the bush Adjusts its tumbled head,— The mail from Tunis, probably, An easy morning's ride.
# Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/The Juggler of Day

​166 POEMS.
                XLIII.
       THE JUGGLER OF DAY.
BLAZING in gold and quenching in purple,
Leaping like leopards to the sky,
Then at the feet of the old horizon
Laying her spotted face, to die;
Stooping as low as the otter's window,
Touching the roof and tinting the barn,
Kissing her bonnet to the meadow, — And the juggler of day is gone!
# Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/The Journey

XXII.
THE JOURNEY
Our journey had advanced;
Our feet were almost come
To that odd fork in Being's road,
Eternity by term.
Our pace took sudden awe,
Our feet reluctant led.
Before were cities, but between,
The forest of the dead.
Retreat was out of hope— Behind, a sealed route,
Eternity's white flag before,
And God at every gate.