Death poems
/ page 146 of 560 /
To Harriet St. Leger
© Frances Anne Kemble
I would I might be with thee, when the year
Begins to wane, and that thou walk'st alone
Pan Is Dead
© Ezra Pound
Pan is dead. Great Pan is dead.
Ah! bow your heads, ye maidens all,
And weave ye him his coronal.
The Spirit Of Navigation
© William Lisle Bowles
Stern Father of the storm! who dost abide
Amid the solitude of the vast deep,
To Lynette.
© Robert Crawford
God knows that I love you, I love you, and yet
He knows, too, I'm weary, Lynette, O Lynette!
He gave me the love-feeling, the tired feeling, too;
Will He take them together, and part me from you?
Piere Vidal Old
© Ezra Pound
When I but think upon the great dead days
And turn my mind upon that splendid madness,
Lo! I do curse my strength
And blame the sun his gladness;
For that the one is dead
And the red sun mocks my sadness.
Genesis BK XVII
© Caedmon
(ll. 1002-1005) Then the Lord of glory spake unto Cain, and asked
where Abel was. Quickly the cursed fashioner of death made
answer unto Him:
Cradle-Song For My Son Carl
© Carl Michael Bellman
Little Carl, sleep soft and sweet:
Thou'lt soon enough be waking;
Book Eleventh: France [concluded]
© William Wordsworth
But indignation works where hope is not,
And thou, O Friend! wilt be refreshed. There is
One great society alone on earth:
The noble Living and the noble Dead.
At The Last.
© Robert Crawford
The sky grows white with the moon,
And the sea yearns up to the night
As the soul to an unknown height,
Drawn thence by a starry rune.
L'Homme Et La Mer (Man And The Sea)
© Charles Baudelaire
Homme libre, toujours tu chériras la mer!
La mer est ton miroir; tu contemples ton âme
Dans le déroulement infini de sa lame,
Et ton esprit n'est pas un gouffre moins amer.
Phantasies
© Emma Lazarus
Rest, beauty, stillness: not a waif of a cloud
From gray-blue east sheer to the yellow west-
No film of mist the utmost slopes to shroud.
The Defence of Lucknow
© Alfred Tennyson
I
BANNER of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast thou
A Cossack Charge
© Jessie Pope
Cossacks they're coming!
The eager hoofs are drumming,
On glinting steel the autumn sunlight glances.
The distant mass draws nearer,
The surging line shows clearer
An angry, tossing wave of manes and lances.
Sonnet LXXXVII: Death's Songsters
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
When first that horse, within whose populous womb
The birth was death, o'ershadowed Troy with fate,
The Dark Angel
© Lionel Pigot Johnson
DARK Angel, with thine aching lust
To rid the world of penitence:
Malicious Angel, who still dost
My soul such subtile violence!
The Comedian
© Edgar Albert Guest
Whatever the task and whatever the risk, wherever
the flag's in air,
Oh, Tell Me, Ye Breezes
© Henry Kendall
Tell me, ye breezes, yeve traversed the wild,
And passed oer the desolate spot,
Where reposeth in silence sweet Natures own child,
Where slumbers one nearly forgot?
