Death poems
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My Ladys Lamantation And Complaint Against The Dean
© Jonathan Swift
Sure never did man see
A wretch like poor Nancy,
So teazed day and night
By a Dean and a Knight.
Bande Mataram
© Sri Aurobindo
Mother, I bow to thee!
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleams,
Cool with thy winds of delight,
Dark fields waving, Mother of might,
Mother free.
"What shall I say to thee, my spirit, so soon dejected"
© Robert Laurence Binyon
What shall I say to thee, my spirit, so soon dejected,
Unaccountably conquered, where thou seemed'st strong?
Life, that, yesterday, the sun's own glory reflected,
Darkened now, like a train of captives, crawls along.
Poetry: A Metrical Essay, Read Before the Phi Beta Kappa Society, Harvard
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Scenes of my youth! awake its slumbering fire!
Ye winds of Memory, sweep the silent lyre!
Ray of the past, if yet thou canst appear,
Break through the clouds of Fancyâs waning year;
Chase from her breast the thin autumnal snow,
If leaf or blossom still is fresh below!
In an Almshouse
© Augusta Davies Webster
They said you were not pretty, owed your charm
to choice of ribbons from your father's shop,
but, as for me, I saw not if you wore
too many ribbons or too few, nor sought
what charms you had beyond that one I knew,
the kind and honest look in your grey eyes.
An Ode In Blessed Memory Of Her Majesty The Empress Anna Ivanovna On The Victory Over The Turks And
© Mikhail Vasilyevich Lomonosov
1
A sudden bliss has seized my mind,
Present And Future
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Look, as a mother bending o'er her boy,
The sleeping boy that in her bosom lies,
Gazes upon him in a trance of joy
With earnest, infinitely tender eyes,
Death and Night
© James Benjamin Kenyon
The bearded grass waves in the summer breeze;
The sunlight sleeps along the distant hills;
A New Song to an Old Tune
© William Ernest Henley
SONS of Shannon, Tamar, Trent,
Men of the Lothians, Men of Kent,
Hymn XXXII. Lord, now the time returns,
© John Austin
Lord, now the time returns,
For weary man to rest;
Modern Beauty
© Arthur Symons
I am the torch, she saith, and what to me
If the moth die of me? I am the flame
Of Beauty, and I burn that all may see
Beauty, and I have neither joy nor shame.
But live with that clear light of perfect fire
Which is to men the death of their desire.
On the Death of Mrs. Browning
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
WHICH of the Angels sang so well in Heaven
That the approving Archon of the quire
The Forsaken
© Caroline Norton
IT is the music of her native land,--
The airs she used to love in happier days;
The lute is struck by some young gentle hand,
To soothe her spirit with remember'd lays.
II.
Ralph Isham, 1753 And Later
© Eli Siegel
Know you him, O, him,
Who lived in those days?
He wore a gay coat,
And he stepped along, jauntily, jauntily,
Fuel
© Lola Ridge
What of the silence of the keys
And silvery hands? The iron sings…
Though bows lie broken on the strings,
The fly-wheels turn eternally…
He will Watch the Hawk
© Stephen Spender
He will watch the hawk with an indifferent eye
Or pitifully;
Nor on those eagles that so feared him, now
Will strain his brow;
Weapons men use, stone, sling and strong-thewed bow
He will not know.
Fair Dog, Which So My Heart
© Fulke Greville
Kill therefore in the end, and end my anguish,
Give me my death, methinks even time upbraideth
A fullness of the woes, wherein I languish;
Or if thou wilt I live, then pity pleadeth
Help out of thee, since nature hath reveal'd,
That with thy tongue thy bitings may be heal'd.
The Lay of the Last Minstrel: Canto V.
© Sir Walter Scott
Lord Dacre
"Forward, brave champions, to the fight!
Sound trumpets!" -
To my mother
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
LIKE streamlets to a silent sea,
These songs with varied motion
Flow from bright fancy's uplands free,
To Lethe's clouded ocean;
An Hymn To Sleep.
© Mary Barber
Written when the Author was sick.
Somnus, pow'rful Deity,
Mortals owe their Bliss to thee.
How long shall I thy Absence mourn,
