Death poems
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Our Captain's Last Words
© Henry Clay Work
Where the foremost flag was flying,
Pierce'd by many a shot and shell,
Cicely
© Francis Bret Harte
Cicely says you're a poet; maybe,--I ain't much on rhyme:
I reckon you'd give me a hundred, and beat me every time.
Poetry!--that's the way some chaps puts up an idee,
But I takes mine "straight without sugar," and that's what's the matter with me.
Ye Wearie Wayfarer [A Dedication to the author of Holmby House"
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
Fytte I
By Wood and Wold
[A Preamble]
Hope
© Mathilde Blind
But tired of these he craved a wider scope:
Then fair as Pallas from the brain of Jove
From his deep wish there sprang, full-armed, to cope
With all life's ills, even very death in love,
The only thing man never wearies of-
His own creation-visionary Hope.
The Rape Of Lucrece
© William Shakespeare
TO THE
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.
How Do You Tackle Your Work
© Franklin Pierce Adams
How do you tackle your work each day?
Are you scared of the job you find?
A Counting-Out Song
© Rudyard Kipling
What is the song the children sing,
When doorway lilacs bloom in Spring,
Of The Nature Of Things: Book III - Part 01 - Proem
© Lucretius
O thou who first uplifted in such dark
So clear a torch aloft, who first shed light
Sunrise
© Sidney Lanier
I have waked, I have come, my beloved! I might not abide:
I have come ere the dawn, O beloved, my live-oaks, to hide
In your gospelling glooms, -- to be
As a lover in heaven, the marsh my marsh and the sea my sea.
Psyche
© Jones Very
I SAW a worm, with many a fold;
It spun itself a silken tomb;
And there in winter time enrolled,
It heeded not the cold or gloom.
Love And Life.
© Arthur Henry Adams
I.
AS some faint wisp of fragrance, floating wide
A pennant-perfume on the evening air
From a walled garden, flower-filled and fair,
But Here's An Object More Of Dread
© Abraham Lincoln
But here's an object more of dread
Than aught the grave contains--
A human form with reason fled,
While wretched life remains.
The Progress of Error
© William Cowper
Sing, muse (if such a theme, so dark, so long
May find a muse to grace it with a song),
Sentence And Torment Of The Condemned
© Michael Wigglesworth
Where tender love mens hearts did move unto a sympathy,
And bearing part of others smart in their anxiety;
Now such compassion is out of fashion, and wholly laid aside:
No Friends so near, but Saints to hear their Sentence can abide.
August Moonrise
© Sara Teasdale
THE sun was gone, and the moon was coming
Over the blue Connecticut hills;
The west was rosy, the east was flushed,
And over my head the swallows rushed
The Wind
© Emile Verhaeren
Each bucket of iron at the wells of the farmyards,
Each bucket and pulley, it creaks and it wails;
By cisterns of farmyards, the pulleys and pails
They creak and they cry,
The whole of sad death in their melancholy.
