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diff --git a/old/51212-0.txt b/old/51212-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 72abdd1..0000000 --- a/old/51212-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1373 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Flag and Other Poems, by Amy Redpath Roddick - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Flag and Other Poems - -Author: Amy Redpath Roddick - -Release Date: February 14, 2016 [EBook #51212] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLAG AND OTHER POEMS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - - THE FLAG - - AND OTHER POEMS - - 1918 - - BY - - AMY REDPATH RODDICK - - (_All rights reserved_) - - Montreal - - JOHN DOUGALL & SON - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - - PAGE - -THE BRITISH LANDS 5 - -THE FLAG 7 - -ENGLAND’S OLDEST COLONY 9 - -IN FORT-BOUND METZ 11 - -THE CALM THAT COMES WITH YEARS 13 - -GOING WEST 15 - -PERFECT IN THY PROMISE 18 - -ARMAGEDDON 19 - -THE FAIRIES 20 - -THE SOLDIERS 21 - -NO TEARS 22 - -“MON REPOS” 22 - -“AS WE FORGIVE” 23 - -THE CREW 24 - -IN A TRAIN 25 - -THE BALLAD OF A BUGABOO 26 - -OUR ART 31 - -ON READING SOME IMAGIST VERSES 33 - -THE MIND OF THE MYSTIC 34 - -A MONTREAL LULLABY 35 - -L’ESPERANCE 36 - -MY LAKE 37 - -A SCIENTIFIC PUZZLE 38 - -THE GOOD OLD DAYS 40 - -AT LENNOX 41 - -THE FLOWER OF TRUE HAPPINESS 42 - -THE MOUNTAIN TOP 44 - -CHARITY 46 - - - - -THE BRITISH LANDS. - - - The tie that binds the British lands - Is never spun of tyrant’s might; - Of fair replies to just demands, - Of compromise whenever right - Is spun the fibre of its strands, - A mighty Empire to unite. - - A symbol is our gracious King - Of British unity of heart, - A simple man to whom we cling, - Of all good men the counterpart. - We sing to God to “Save the King,” - And mean thereby ourselves in part. - - The people of the British lands - Are masters of their future fate, - By effort of their mind and hands - They glorify their Empire State, - And, as the bud of thought expands, - Can make new laws by calm debate. - - The British Empire, may it be - The nucleus of that larger league, - Uniting every land and sea, - Eschewing wars and false intrigue, - May common sense and kindness be - The crowning glory of that league! - - - - -THE FLAG. - - - Canada! where is thy flag, - Welding race and race together? - Union Jack, that wondrous rag, - Dear to those who’ve trod the heather, - Dear to those who love the rose, - Blending Irish cross and nation - With the crosses of old foes - In a just and fair relation, - Bears no emblem of the men, - First to cross the stormy ocean, - Bringing faith and plough and pen, - First to know with deep emotion, - Canada! thy name, as home. - True, provincial arms commingle - On thy flag o’er ships that roam; - In their stead an emblem single, - Maple leaf of golden hue, - Would announce to all more proudly - Whence thy ships their anchors drew; - Would announce to all more loudly, - Canada! thy nation’s life; - And on land, when bells are ringing - To acclaim the end of strife, - When with joy each heart is singing; - Canada! is this thy flag? - Welding race and race together, - Waving from each roof and crag, - East and West, one nation ever! - - - - -ENGLAND’S OLDEST COLONY. - - - [A]Newfoundland is proud to be - England’s oldest colony! - Loving her dear motherland, - By her side she takes her stand, - Devon, Scotch and Irish stock, - Sturdy as their seagirt rock, - Leave their homes and leave their boats, - Don the khaki-coloured coats. - Newfoundland has fought and bled, - Far and wide her fame has spread, - Newfoundland is proud to be - England’s oldest colony! - - Nine fair sisters in one home, - With the North Pole on its dome, - Facing both the East and West, - And a friendly State abreast, - Smile upon the lonely one. - They have done as she has done, - Fought and bled in freedom’s cause, - Won like her the world’s applause. - Will she join her home to theirs? - No, her head in scorn she rears, - Newfoundland is proud to be - England’s oldest colony! - - But the offer’s most sincere; - And the offer’s always there; - Newfoundland may change her mind, - And in time she too may find, - Burdens shared are light to bear, - Triumphs shared are doubly dear, - She may gladly join the sheaf - Bound around by maple leaf, - Knowing well she still may boast, - Answering her sisters’ toast: - “Newfoundland is proud to be - England’s oldest colony!” - - [A] The name of “Newfoundland” is never pronounced by its inhabitants - or their neighbors of the Maritime Provinces with the accent on the - middle syllable, as is the usage elsewhere. It is pronounced as though - written “Newf’n’land,” with the principal stress on the last syllable. - - - - -IN FORT-BOUND METZ. - -July 26th, 1914. - - - Neat uniformed, with close cropped head and fierce moustache, - Near us they dined one July day in fort-bound Metz. - We could not catch their words; but we could see and feel - Their strong excitement, breaking forth, then held in check, - Then breaking forth afresh as some new health was drunk. - The joy, imprinted on their faces, spread to ours. - We laughed in turn as they; but knew not why we laughed. - It was indeed a merry meal in which we shared, - That July day, in fort-bound Metz. - Next day, in France, we were to know at what we laughed - With those large built, full blooded German men of rank, - For when we asked a grieving woman why she wept, - She sobbed: “Because the Germans will make war on France!” - - - - -THE CALM THAT COMES WITH YEARS. - - - I cannot write of turmoil, I cannot write of strife, - Long since has gone the passion, I used to think was life. - A calmness rests upon me, a calm I cannot break, - Though worlds are trembling round me and freedom is at stake. - - Because I have no sorrows, because my heart’s at rest, - I cannot weep with others, whose hearts are not so blest; - I tremble for no hero upon the fields of France, - I cannot curse the Nero who planned this gory dance. - - Though woman fast is winning her place in Council Halls, - By work where talent leads her, by work where mercy calls, - I feel no keen elation to know her triumph’s near, - A triumph most unselfish, a heavier weight to bear. - - The calm that rests upon me, the calm that comes with years, - Suggests that man’s impatience is the cause of most he fears, - Suggests that war’s upheaval is but the anvil clink, - The welding by the Forger of yet another link - In that great chain of progress that binds successive time, - From chaos on to order, and then to heights sublime! - - - - -GOING WEST. - - - A pulsing silence shrouds me round - Like waves one feels, but hears no sound, - Then slowly, as from realms above, - There come soft whispered words of love. - - And something presses on my heart, - Of my own self it seems a part, - So very close I feel--her head-- - And now I know she is not dead! - - I try to break the secret charm - That weighs upon my nerveless arm, - I want to hold my love so close - She will not wander whilst I doze. - - I think I fell asleep, - The silence seemed more deep, - I could not catch the beat - The noiseless waves repeat. - - Again there comes that soundless sound, - The heavy, ceaseless, rythmic pound. - Is it the throb of worlds alive? - Is it the hum of some near hive? - - My own tired pulse may be the cause - Of what is more like faint applause, - Of what might be a funeral drum - So muffled to be almost dumb. - - But no, that pressure on my heart - Reminds me, with a sudden dart - Of pain, so keen it seems to thrill, - That my dear love is by me still. - - And now I understand - The meaning of that band, - Her heart is beating time - In unison with mine. - - * * * * * - - Again those words of love I hear, - But now they are so very near, - They’re telling me of deeds I’ve done - And of the wished for cross I’ve won! - - So after all my life’s not lost, - Amidst that fiery holocaust, - I’ve done what I was meant to do, - What matter if the fight’s not through! - - My little love your head is pressed - Too close upon my burning breast, - And yet it seems, that while you press, - The pain is growing less and less. - - Perhaps I’m going west, - I’m tired, I want to rest, - My breathing’s slow and deep, - I’m sinking fast asleep-- - - * * * * * - - In shell tossed No Man’s Land they saw him, lying - Unconscious, smiling in his sleep, but dying-- - His broken arm hung limp, a mortal wound - Gaped wide above his heart, on which they found, - Tight pressed, the picture of his youthful bride, - Whose grave is swept by ocean’s restless tide. - - - - -PERFECT IN THY PROMISE. - - - Perfect in thy promise, as the bud unfolding, - Perfect in thyself, as rose fresh blown, - Ever gracious, all that’s pure and good upholding, - Perfect spirit, hast thou really flown? - - Must I spend alone the many, many morrows, - Void of blissful hopes together spanned, - Hopes of service in assuaging others’ sorrows, - Hopes of varied joys together planned? - - No, these heavy mourning weeds I’ll cast asunder, - Struggle through the clouds that wrap me round, - Close my ears to their unholy, fearsome thunder, - Spring anew to life from grief unbound. - - Perfect spirit, now I know that thou art near me; - In thy tender love I rest content, - Trusting in that love to cheer, and help, and steer me, - Till I too have climbed life’s steep ascent! - - - - -ARMAGEDDON. - - - The Armageddon of the ages, - In pent up wrath and fury rages, - And little souls like children cry, - And little souls are asking why. - - The Armageddon of the ages, - The Lord of all, in pity stages, - That little souls may grow in grace, - That little souls may know His face. - - The Armageddon of the ages, - Foretold by holy men and sages, - The last and greatest fight of all-- - When good shall win, and evil fall, - When nation shall clasp hands with nation - In universal federation! - - - - -THE FAIRIES. - - - Merrily the fairies march, - In and out, - Round about, - Where toadstools in magic row - Mark their course by moonlight glow. - In and out, - Round about, - Waving music with their wands, - Cheerful little vagabonds, - Knowing nought of care or duty, - Living but for play and beauty, - Dancing in the moonshine hours, - They will hide from sun and showers. - - No one seeks the fairies now, - They’re forgotten with our joys, - They’re forgotten with our toys, - No one seeks the fairies now. - - - - -THE SOLDIERS. - - - Sternly march the soldier men, - Straight ahead, - Where they’re led, - Ready for self-sacrifice, - Braving death in any guise. - Straight ahead, - Where they’re led, - Sternly march the splendid hosts, - Never flinching from their posts, - Facing frightful odds at first, - When o’er peaceful lands war burst, - Beating back the hated foe - With a strong united blow. - - Thinking of our soldier men - There’s no duty we will shirk, - Rain or shine will stop no work, - Thinking of our soldier men. - - - - -NO TEARS. - - - For a hero’s death, no tears! - He fought for lasting peace, - But everlasting peace he’s won; - It might be troubled if I wept. - - - - -“MON REPOS.” - - - “Mon Repos” he called our home, - Meaning his and mine. - He has gone, our home has gone; - But “Mon Repos” still shelters me. - - - - -“AS WE FORGIVE.”[B] - - - On Belgic dunes the sun is gayly shining - And little children can forget--and play; - A jolly band with smiles and arms entwining - Are running through the sands and lose their way. - - They stop their frolicking and rather weary - They chance upon a road where, looking round, - They see the perfect Son of gentle Mary - Resigned upon His cross though pierced and bound. - - At His dear feet, in prayer, they closely snuggle - And chant the words of Him they all adore, - But “trespasses” reminding them, they struggle - To finish, hesitate, can say no more. - - A step is heard, a presence felt that captures - The stammered words, and firmly all repeat - The Pater Noster to its end. What raptures! - Their hero King! they see and humbly greet. - - [B] Suggested by a pretty story of King Albert that has filtered - through from martyred Belgium. - - - - -THE CREW. - - - O’er the moving waters of the Horicon[C] - Comes a gentle breeze, - Throwing kisses to its ripples, - Flirting with the trees, - Blowing whiffs of scented clover, - Whiffs of sweetest peas. - - On the moving waters of the Horicon - Comes a red canoe, - Bearing Cupid, with an arrow - Pointed at the crew, - Sharing youthful dreams together, - In that red canoe! - - [C] “The Horicon,” meaning tail lake, is the Indian name given by - Cooper to Lake George. - - - - -IN A TRAIN. - - - A lonesome landscape, brown and grey, - And chilled with flakes of smutchy snow, - So grimly dull that every ray - Of setting sun forgets its glow; - - But in the train I sit with one. - Who clears my thoughts of wintry gloom; - She laughs!--and now a midday sun - Is coaxing summer flowers to bloom! - - - - -THE BALLAD OF A BUGABOO.[D] - - - In Aachen Town, in olden days, - There dwelt a demon beast, - Whose special prey was roysterers - Returning from a feast. - - By day, he lurked in caverns deep - Where sulphur waters boil, - And dreamt of evil men and deeds, - Whilst resting from his toil. - - By night he issued from the spring, - And those, who saw him, said: - “His body long and shaggy seemed - With oddly flattened head. - - His eyes burned like two fiery moons - That paled the Queen of Night, - And when he opened wide his mouth - His teeth gleamed sharp and white. - - His tail, which brushed the ground, was decked - With phosphorescent scales, - And yet his paws were like a bear’s - With long, protruding nails.” - - His head and legs were wreathed in chains, - Which rattled as he went - Along the narrow, winding streets - On pranks and mischief bent. - - He gambolled like a monstrous calf - Of breed unknown and strange, - And drunken men were filled with fear - Who happened on his range. - - His egress led along the drain, - Whence comes, from far below, - The boiling, seething sulphur stream - Whose waters ever flow. - - Before the large Bath House was built, - A wide canal was made - To hold this healing flood, and there, - Beneath the beech trees shade, - - The poorer women washed their clothes - Without a thought of fear; - Though echoes rattling through the drain - Announced the beast was near. - - They felt no fear, for demons shun - The honest light of day, - But as the night came stealing on - They were afraid to stay, - - Although the beast was never known - To take a single life, - Was never even known to touch - A child or maid or wife. - - He seldom either sought his prey - Before the midnight hour, - And then the haunts of vice and mirth - Around about he’d scour. - - Ah, woe betide! the jovial youth - Or greybeard steeped in shame, - Whose shuffling walk and glassy eye - Proclaim from whence he came. - - The demon beast with gliding gait - Would follow on his track, - With sudden spring would seize his prey - And hang upon his back. - - The more the victim fought and reeled, - The heavier hung the beast, - The more the victim cursed or prayed, - The closer clung the beast. - - The wretched man now sought his home - Beneath this awful load, - With beads of sweat upon his brow - He oft mistook the road. - - At last, at last he reached his goal, - Worn out by pain and fear, - And as he passed within his home-- - The beast would disappear. - - With rattling and with clanking chains - The demon gambolled off, - Avoiding church and crucifix, - To seek the sulphur trough; - - But if another maudlin man - There chanced upon his way, - Most gladly would he turn aside - To grapple yet more prey. - - Then moans and groans began afresh, - As this new victim found - He too must turn from wrong to right, - By sad repentance bound! - - [D] The Baakauf--a legend of Charlemagne’s Day. - - - - -OUR ART. - - - To be great is not our fate - So we try to gain applause, - To attract, by being in fact, - What perhaps we really are, - Somewhat hazy, if not quite crazy. - - See the pictures which we hang, - Daubs of paint, now bright, now faint, - Houses leaning, quaint designs, - Figures queer and how we sneer - At what the common people like! - - Though our verse may seem too terse, - Somewhat odd and not quite nice; - Yet it’s fine, each single line, - Free from metre and from rhyme, - It’s intense, without much sense! - - Music may be passing strange, - Tunes appear, then disappear - In a hurricane of sound, - Now a squeak, a louder shriek, - Rockets bursting, grand finale! - - With clasped hands the critic stands - Talking much of atmosphere, - Looking wise through half-closed eyes, - He reveals our very soul. - With disdain for all that’s plain - He explains our meaning well; - Listeners smile, they love his style - As they love our modern art, - Whose true tone, we can’t disown, - Only mystics understand! - - - - -ON READING SOME IMAGIST VERSES. - - - Sensuous cadences - Poignant with feeling, - Writhing like snakes - Before feeding, - Coiling, uncoiling, - In magical curves. - - Words most expressive, - Which sound like their meaning, - Throwing pictures before us, - In beauty revealing - Form, movement and feeling; - Words chosen with care - And yet some may ask, - Leading where? - Leading where? - - - - -THE MIND OF THE MYSTIC. - - - Caverns deep and fathomless, - Heights too steep for thought to climb, - Mazes whose key is ecstacy, - Music too sweet for words to speak, - Visions that fleet through aerial dreams, - Woe so drear no hopes can cheer, - Joy that comes with boundless love - Rippling from its source above! - - - - -A MONTREAL LULLABY. - - - The swishing of passing motors, - The rumbling of city cars, - The click and the clack of horses - That sharply accent the bars, - The boom of important freighters, - The whiz of the swifter train - Which slows, with a hushing whisper - To toot of canal refrain. - - And, striking its note of rawness, - The hoot of the motor horn - Is shrieking erratic discord, - To show its true Georgian scorn - Of soothing Victorian rhythm; - As sweetly and softly chimes - The old English clock in hallway. - Its tick and its tick make rhymes. - - And I sink into slumber - Counting slowly their number, - Tick tick--tick tick--tick-- - - - - -L’ESPERANCE. - - - La nuit, en pleurs, s’évanouit, - D’un air vainqueur le jour s’avance, - Et le rayon de l’espérance - Chasse les craintes de la nuit. - - Les oiseaux font leur joyeux bruit, - La douleur repose sa lance, - La nuit, en pleurs, s’évanouit, - D’un air vainqueur le jour s’avance. - - L’éclat du soleil éblouit, - Zéphyr riant rompt le silence, - Un chant d’amour au ciel s’élance, - Et dans les yeux le bonheur luit, - La nuit, en pleurs, s’évanouit. - - - - -MY LAKE. - - - I love the stillness of my lake - With silent mountains round, - Their peaks denoting lofty thought - Scarce held by earthly bound. - - I love the clearness of my lake - Reflecting Heaven’s blue, - Symbolic of the pure of heart, - Absorbing grace anew. - - I love the clouds above my lake - Of filmy grey and white, - As transient as the grief of those - Who’ve learnt to live aright! - - - - -A SCIENTIFIC PUZZLE. - - - The vast and cold expanse of boundless space - Where worlds, revolving in a ceaseless race, - Are born in fire, and slowly grow to prime, - Then cool to death in aeon’s endless time: - In space so vast could seeds of life survive - And reach another younger world alive, - If wafted, dustwise, from a world grown old, - Whilst lulled to deathless sleep by freezing cold? - - Or, - - Sunk in a meteor, hurling through space, - Flung from a broken star on its mad race; - Hurling through space ever heading for earth, - Rider momentous! hold fast to your berth, - Cling to your crevace in meteor’s side, - Life of a planet depends on this ride! - Last of one world, to be first of another, - Germ most amazing, of all germs the mother, - Strengthen yourself, for your luminous steed - Generates heat from his furious speed, - Strengthen yourself to withstand the fierce jar, - When the swift meteor, rushing from far, - Dashes in frenzy, indenting the earth, - Shaking you free from your perilous berth. - - Then, - - Feeding on water and warmed by the sun, - Germ of all living, where life there was none, - Energy gaining, dividing in twain, - Wonders and wonders will come in their train. - Life on this planet is now well begun, - Ever evolving, its course it must run - Till at length man can commune with his mate, - Looking to God to explain his strange fate. - - For, - - Even if true, there is ever the whence? - The why? the how? - God of all Mystery! God of all Truth! - To Thee, we bow! - - - - -THE GOOD OLD DAYS. - - - In the evening - Mysteries come creeping into our garden, - And the slanting beams of the settling sun - Enhance, by their mellowing glow, - The loveliness of trees and lawns and flowers. - The weeds now have their hour of beauty, - The dying cedar hedge is fashioned of golden tissue, - The falling apple blossoms are fairy butterflies, - And the peace of God - Enfolds the troubled heart of man! - - As the evening of life draws on, - Memory, the wonder worker, casts her magic spell - Over the past, with its strivings and failures, - Its sorrows and hardships, - Mingling them with its joys and successes, - Till “the good old days” become as perfect - As our garden, - In the twilight hour! - - - - -AT LENNOX. - - -The silver birch, on the mountain top, laughed for sheer joy of being -alive! - -She looked down on the valley and saw the peaceful farms and the green -meadow, where man’s only labour was driving a ball from hole to hole, -and beyond she saw the gentle slopes of wooded hills and the pure gold -of the setting sun and she was happy, for was not all this created just -for her! - -So she laughed, and every leaf fluttered for joy! - - - - -THE FLOWER OF TRUE HAPPINESS. - - -The Flower of Happiness grows in the fields of the Poor and in the -gardens of the Rich and may be gathered by all who want it and have the -will to reach for it. It hangs high up on the Tree of Life though, and -many never see it at all. They are so busy digging for gold or weeping -over graves, they forget to look up. Even amongst those who do see it -many are afraid to pluck it, fearing its beauty and fragrance might -injure their souls. Others strive for it; but the rock, on which they -stand, is so overlaid with greed and lust that, when the Flower is -within their reach, they slip, clutching but a broken stalk. - -A few only, with their feet firmly planted on the plane of moderation -and their faces turned towards God, gather this wondrous Flower. At -moments it may wilt; but the true Flower always revives, and whiffs of -its sweetness go to gladden many hearts as they, who have plucked it, -walk amongst their fellow-men. - - - - -THE MOUNTAIN TOP. - - -A man of mature years and thoughtful mien was slowly ascending the -mountain slopes when he met the good minister, with prayer book under -arm, on his way to church. - -“My dear sir,” said the latter, “your steps have passed the House of -God, and this the Sabbath morn!” - -The other answered: “The house of man, you mean. I go to the House of -God, the mountain top, with its foundation of finite rock and its roof -of infinite space; and there, from the finite my soul aspires to the -infinite, from sin to perfection, from the known to the ideal, from -disorder to harmony, from man to God.” - -“This too, I preach,” said the good minister. - -“And so do the Rabbi, the Brahman and the priests of the many religions -and sects of this world,” replied the other. “But each explains the -great mystery in his own way and the many ways confuse me and so, as -alone I must one day meet my God, alone now I seek Him on the mountain -top.” - -“Let not our many ways trouble you,” said the good minister, with a -kindly smile. “If you really have our common goal in your heart, you -need not climb to the mountain top to find the House of God; because -then you will know it is everywhere, as God is everywhere!” - - - - -CHARITY. - - -A lovable and beautiful maid was Charity, yet withal thoughtless and -somewhat vain. She was admired and “God-blessed” by all men, for what -beggar did she ever repulse! And for each coin she dropped into a -beggar’s hand, what treasure was she not storing up for herself in the -wonderful kingdom to come! - -But some of the beggars began to whisper among themselves that it was -not fair that she should receive such great reward for doing so very -little, and that the scattered coins vanished almost as soon as they -touched their outstretched hands, and that misery was everywhere. - -At last these murmurings reached Charity herself and they bewildered -her. So she looked more closely at the beggars and she saw here a blind -one, there a lame one, and many, many who were sick and weary, and her -heart was touched. So she came down from her pedestal and soothed and -comforted the needy, even finding cures for a few of them. Now she was -admired and loved more than ever, and greater than ever she felt was -that future reward she was heaping up for herself. - -But some of the beggars again began to whisper that everything was not -right, that perhaps after all it was not Charity they wanted, and again -Charity heard, and she looked at the beggars yet more closely and she -found in every face the promise of something better, if she could but -reach it. So she called all the Sciences and all the Arts to her aid and -for long they communed together. Then the Sciences and the Arts went to -work, accompanied by a sweet and perfect Charity, who now sought her -only reward in her power to serve and to love, and they found the roots -of the many evils that beset the world and one by one they destroyed -them. - -No angry whisperings now, no gruesome beggars more; but soft laughter -and willing helpers everywhere abound. - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Flag and Other Poems, by Amy Redpath Roddick - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLAG AND OTHER POEMS *** - -***** This file should be named 51212-0.txt or 51212-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/2/1/51212/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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