Poems begining by D

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Der Schiffskoch, Ein Gefangener, Singt:

© Hugo von Hofmannsthal

Weh, geschieden von den Meinigen,

Lieg ich hier seit vielen Wochen,

Deaths Genius

© Johannes Carsten Hauch

Oh you who weep, brush all your tears aside!
And you who mourn, recall grief wont abide!
For youll know rest when your heart beats no more,
Deaths angel you from all your wounds will cure.

Divorced

© Henry Lawson

TWO COUPLES are drifting the self-same way

(Men of the world know well)

Down Zhongnan Mountain

© Li Po

Down the blue mountain in the evening,
Moonlight was my homeward escort.
Looking back, I saw my path
Lie in levels of deep shadow....

Digging

© Edward Thomas

What matter makes my spade for tears or mirth,

Letting down two clay pipes into the earth?

Distance

© Madison Julius Cawein

I.

I dreamed last night once more I stood

Dion [See Plutarch]

© William Wordsworth

Serene, and fitted to embrace,

Where'er he turned, a swan-like grace

Deaf

© Henry Cuyler Bunner

As to a birds song she were listening,
Her beautiful head is ever sidewise bent;
Her questioning eyes lift up their depths intent
She, who will never hear the wild-birds sing.

Death Of An Old Carriage Horse

© George Moses Horton

The order of the day
Was push, the peal of every tongue,
The only word was all the way,
Push along, push along.

Dreamland

© Lewis Carroll

When midnight mists are creeping,

And all the land is sleeping,

Day's End

© Du Fu

Oxen and sheep were brought back down
Long ago, and bramble gates closed. Over
Mountains and rivers, far from my old garden,
A windswept moon rises into clear night.

Discontent And Quarrelling

© Charles Lamb

JANE.
O may be, may be, very well:
And may be, brother, I don't tell
Tales to mamma like you.

Death In Life

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

My head is heavy, my limbs are weary,
And it is not life that makes me move.

You 'member de ole log-camp, Johnnie, up on de Cheval Gris,
W'ere we work so hard all winter, long ago you an' me?
Dere was fourteen man on de gang, den, all from our own paroisse,
An' only wan lef' dem feller is ourse'f an' Pierre Laframboise.

Dance

© Corinna

Air flowes-slow,
body moves fast;
Hair swings-bow,
free at last.

Death of a Believer

Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him,

Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save,

Delight In God Only

I love (and have some cause to love) the earth;
She is my Maker's creature, therefore good:
She is my mother, for she gave me birth;
She is my tender nurse; she gives me food;
But what's a creature, Lord, compared with Thee?
Or what's my mother, or my nurse to me?