Death poems
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Shakespeare's Sonnets: If thou survive my well-contented day
© William Shakespeare
If thou survive my well-contented day,When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover,And shalt by fortune once more re-surveyThese poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,And though they be out-stripp't by every pen,Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,Exceeded by the height of happier men
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press
© William Shakespeare
Be wise as thou art cruel, do not pressMy tongue-tied patience with too much disdainLest sorrow lend me words and words expressThe manner of my pity-wanting pain
Romeo and Juliet (excerpts): The earth that’s Nature’s mother is her tomb
© William Shakespeare
The earth that's Nature's mother is her tomb;What is her burying grave, that is her womb;And from her womb children of divers kindWe sucking on her natural bosom find:Many for many virtues excellent,None but for some, and yet all different
Richard II (excerpts): Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs
© William Shakespeare
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs
Macbeth (excerpts): Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
© William Shakespeare
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrowCreeps in this petty pace from day to dayTo the last syllable of recorded time,And all our yesterdays have lighted foolsThe way to dusty death
Hamlet (excerpts): To be or not to be, that is the question
© William Shakespeare
To be or not to be, that is the question:Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous Fortune,Or to take arms against a sea of troublesAnd by opposing end them
The Girt Woak Tree
© William Barnes
The girt woak tree that's in the dell !
There's noo tree I do love so well;
Marmion: Canto 6
© Sir Walter Scott
Next morn the Baron climb'd the tower,To view afar the Scottish power, Encamp'd on Flodden edge:The white pavilions made a show,Like remnants of the winter snow, Along the dusky ridge
My Amoeba Is Unaware
© Scott Francis Reginald
of this poem in its favour, though it sharesin my totality
Last Rites
© Scott Francis Reginald
Within his tent of pain and oxygenThis man is dying; grave, he mutters prayers,Stares at the bedside altar through the screens,Lies still for invocation and for hands
Hanged by the Neck
© Scott Francis Reginald
When a man is to be hangedThe professionals order themselvesIn ritual rank
The Bird
© Scott Francis Reginald
Fluffed and still as snow, the whitebird lay in a crumple of deathfar, far below the flock which, sailing, heardbut did not feel, the shot.
Youth and Calm
© Matthew Arnold
'Tis death! and peace, indeed, is here,
And ease from shame, and rest from fear.
The Mirror for Magistrates: The Induction
© Thomas Sackville
The wrathful winter, 'proaching on apace,With blustering blasts had all ybar'd the treen,And old Saturnus, with his frosty face,With chilling cold had pierc'd the tender green;The mantles rent, wherein enwrapped been The gladsome groves that now lay overthrown, The tapets torn, and every bloom down blown
Queen of Hearts
© Rowley Rosemarie
Hers, from childhood the bitter pain of tearsDreamed a peep-shy wedding to a PrinceHer one longing to be cherished through the yearsBy a lover, husband, brother: not since
