Death poems
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To ****
© Fitz-Greene Halleck
THE world is bright before thee,
Its summer flowers are thine,
Its calm blue sky is o'er thee,
Thy bosom Pleasure's shrine;
The Bloody fields of Wheogo
© Anonymous
The moon rides high in a starry sky,
And, through the midnight gloom,
Fable L: The Hare and Many Friends
© John Gay
Friendship, like love, is but a name,
Unless to one you stint the flame.
Ad Finem Fideles
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
Far out, far out they lie. Like stricken women weeping,
Eternal vigil keeping with slow and silent tread
The Ancient Banner
© Anonymous
In boundless mercy, the Redeemer left,
The bosom of his Father, and assumed
To Frederick Henry Hedge
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
FIT emblem for the altar's side,
And him who serves its daily need,
The stay, the solace, and the guide
Of mortal men, whate'er his creed!
Dear Jack
© William Makepeace Thackeray
Dear Jack, this white mug that with Guinness I fill,
And drink to the health of sweet Nan of the Hill,
Was once Tommy Tosspot's, as jovial a sot
As e'er drew a spigot, or drain'd a full pot
In drinking all round 'twas his joy to surpass,
And with all merry tipplers he swigg'd off his glass.
Shelley's Centenary
© William Watson
Within a narrow span of time,
Three princes of the realm of rhyme,
At height of youth or manhood's prime,
From earth took wing,
To join the fellowship sublime
Who, dead, yet sing.
A Wounded Deer
© Emily Dickinson
A Wounded Deer leaps highest
I've heard the Hunter tell
'Tis but the Ecstasy of death
And then the Brake is still!
A Death-Scene
© Emily Jane Brontë
"O day! he cannot die
When thou so fair art shining!
O Sun, in such a glorious sky,
So tranquilly declining;
The Doubtful To-Morrow
© Edgar Albert Guest
Whenever I walk through God's Acres of Dead
I wonder how often the mute voices said:
"I will do a kind deed or will lighten a sorrow
Or rise to a sacrifice splendid--to-morrow."
The Song Of Hiawatha VI: Hiawatha's Friends
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Two good friends had Hiawatha,
Singled out from all the others,
At One Again
© Jean Ingelow
Two angry men-in heat they sever,
And one goes home by a harvest field:-
"Hope's nought," quoth he, "and vain endeavor;
I said and say it, I will not yield!
An EPITAPH On my dear and ever honoured Mother Mrs. Dorothy Dudley, who deceased Decemb. 27. 1643. a
© Anne Bradstreet
A worthy Matron of unspotted life,
A loving Mother and obedient wife,
Independence
© Charles Churchill
Happy the bard (though few such bards we find)
Who, 'bove controlment, dares to speak his mind;
