Death poems

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Disenchantment Of Death

© Madison Julius Cawein

Hush! She is dead! Tread gently as the light
  Foots dim the weary room. Thou shalt behold.
  Look:--In death's ermine pomp of awful white,
  Pale passion of pulseless slumber virgin cold:
  Bold, beautiful youth proud as heroic Might--
  Death! and how death hath made it vastly old.

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Youth And Manhood

© Henry Timrod

Another year! a short one, if it flow
Like that just past,
And I shall stand - if years can make me so -
A man at last.

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The Little Left Hand - Act I

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt


Place
A Country Town in England.

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The Cumberland

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,

  On board of the Cumberland sloop-of-war;

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Gallipoli

© Robert Laurence Binyon

Isles of the Aegean, Troy, and waters of Hellespont!
You we have known from of old,
Since boyhood stammering glorious Greek was entranced
In the tale that Homer told.

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Lines: We Meet Not As We Parted

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

I.
We meet not as we parted,
We feel more than all may see;
My bosom is heavy-hearted,
And thine full of doubt for me:--
One moment has bound the free.

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What Have We All Forgotten?

© Henry Lawson

WHAT have we all forgotten, at the break of the seventh year?
With a nation born to the ages and a Bad Time borne on its bier!
Public robbing, and lying that death cannot erase—
“Private” strife and deception—Cover the bad dead face!
Drinking, gambling and madness—Cover and bear it away—
But what have we all forgotten at the dawn of the seventh day?

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The Prison Bell

© Owen Suffolk

Hark to the bell of sorrow! - 'tis awak'ning up again

Each broken spirit from its brief forgetfulness of pain.

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On The Day Of Gogol's Death

© Nikolay Alekseyevich Nekrasov

How blessed's the good-natured poet,
With little bile and much emotion:
All lovers of the gentle arts
Send him sincerest greetings;

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Gautama Christ

© Pablo Neruda

The names of God and especially those of His representative 

Who is called Jesus or Christ according to holy books and 

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Booz Endormi

© Victor Marie Hugo

Booz s'était couché de fatigue accablé ;
Il avait tout le jour travaillé dans son aire ;
Puis avait fait son lit à sa place ordinaire ;
Booz dormait auprès des boisseaux pleins de blé.

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"This Enlightened Age"

© Ada Cambridge

I say it to myself-in meekest awe
 Of Progress, electricity and steam,
Of this almighty age-this liberal age,
 That has no time to breathe, or think, or dream,-

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Mary's Dream

© Louisa May Alcott

The moon had climbed the eastern hill

  Which rises o'er the sands of Dee,

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Campaspe

© Henry Kendall

Dost thou know of the cunning of Beauty?  Take heed to thyself and beware
Of the trap in the droop in the raiment - the snare in the folds of the hair!
She is fulgent in flashes of pearl, the breeze with her breathing is sweet,
But fly from the face of the girl - there is death in the fall of her feet!
Is she maiden or marvel of marble?  Oh, rather a tigress at wait
To pounce on thy soul for her pastime - a leopard for love or for hate.

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April

© Charlotte Turner Smith

GREEN o'er the copses spring's soft hues are spreading,
High wave the reeds in the transparent floods,
The oak its sear and sallow foliage shedding,
From their moss'd cradles start its infant buds.

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The Two Angels. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Two angels, one of Life and one of Death,
  Passed o'er our village as the morning broke;
The dawn was on their faces, and beneath,
  The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke.

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The Silent Victors

© James Whitcomb Riley

Dying for victory, cheer on cheer
Thundered on his eager ear.
  --CHARLES L. HOLSTEIN.

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Big Words

© Robert Graves

I've whined of coming death, but now, no more!

It's weak and most ungracious. For, say I,

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Psalm CL.

© Henry King

Praise ye the Lord, your Songs address
To praise His Holynes:
O praise Him in His pow'rs extent,
Who rules the firmament.

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OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII (Entire)

© Alfred Tennyson

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
 Thou madest man, he knows not why,
 He thinks he was not made to die;
And thou hast made him: thou art just.