Death poems
/ page 117 of 560 /
The Story of Prince Agib
© William Schwenck Gilbert
STRIKE the concertina's melancholy string!
Blow the spirit-stirring harp like anything!
Let the piano's martial blast
Rouse the Echoes of the Past,
For of AGIB, PRINCE OF TARTARY, I sing!
The Centennial Cantata.
© Sidney Lanier
Mayflower, Mayflower, slowly hither flying,
Trembling westward o'er yon balking sea,
Hearts within `Farewell dear England' sighing,
Winds without `But dear in vain' replying,
Gray-lipp'd waves about thee shouted, crying
"No! It shall not be!"
St. Michael And All Angels
© John Keble
Ye stars that round the Sun of righteousness
In glorious order roll,
Elegy (Tir'd With The Busy Crouds)
© James Beattie
Tir'd with the busy crouds, that all the day
Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame,
My languid powers dissolve with quick decay,
Till genial Sleep repair the sinking frame.
He That Hath Ears
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
The Spirit says unto the churches,
"Ere ever the churches began
I lived in the centre of Being-
The life of the Purpose and Plan;
I flowed from the mind of the Maker
Through nature to man.
Sonnet 50: Stella, The Fullness Of My Thoughts
© Sir Philip Sidney
Stella, the fullness of my thoughts of thee
Cannot be stay'd within my panting breast,
But they do swell and struggle forth of me,
Till that in words thy figure be express'd.
At Pompeii
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
At Pompeii I heard a woman laugh,
And turned to find the reason of her mirth;
Raising The Dead
© John Kenyon
We all have heard, and marvelled as we heard,
Of seers, who have raised the Dead from out their tombs,
Idyll XV. The Festival of Adonis
© Theocritus
PRAXINOAe.
Yes, Gorgo dear! At last!
That you're here now's a marvel! See to a chair,
A cushion, Eunoae!
The Freed Islands
© John Greenleaf Whittier
A FEW brief years have passed away
Since Britain drove her million slaves
Beneath the tropic's fiery ray:
God willed their freedom; and to-day
Marching (As Seen From the Left File)
© Isaac Rosenberg
My eyes catch ruddy necks
Sturdily pressed back -
Haroun Al Raschid. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
One day, Haroun Al Raschid read
A book wherein the poet said:-
Song of Unending Sorrow.
© Bai Juyi
China's Emperor, craving beauty that might shake an empire,
Was on the throne for many years, searching, never finding,
Antony Villa
© Henry Lawson
And the daughters of the Vardensthey are beautiful as Graces
But the balconys deserted, and they rarely show their faces;
And the swells of their acquaintance never seem to venture near them,
And the bailiff says they seldom have a cup of tea to cheer them.
The Valley Of Baca
© Emma Lazarus
A brackish lake is there with bitter pools
Anigh its margin, brushed by heavy trees.
A piping wind the narrow valley cools,
Fretting the willows and the cypresses.
Gray skies above, and in the gloomy space
An awful presence hath its dwelling-place.
Letter In November
© Sylvia Plath
Love, the world
Suddenly turns, turns color. The streetlight
Splits through the rat's tail
Pods of the laburnum at nine in the morning.
It is the Arctic,
The Dance
© Hart Crane
Mythical brows we saw retiringloth,
Disturbed and destined, into denser green.
Greeting they sped us, on the arrows oath:
Now lie incorrigibly what years between . .
The Authors: A Satire
© Richard Savage
"HOLD, Criticks cry-Erroneous are your Lays,
"Your Field was Satire, your Pursuit is Praise."
True, you Profound!-I praise, but yet I sneer;
You're dark to Beauties, if to Errors clear!
Know my Lampoon's in Panegyric seen,
For just Applause turns Satire on your Spleen.
