Death poems

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It was in a splenetic humour that I sat me down to my
scanty fare at Terracina ; and how long I should have
contemplated the lean thrushes in array before me, I
cannot say, if a cloud of smoke, that drew the tears

Abraham Davenport

© John Greenleaf Whittier

'T was on a May-day of the far old year
Seventeen hundred eighty, that there fell
Over the bloom and sweet life of the Spring,
Over the fresh earth and the heaven of noon,
A horror of great darkness, like the night
In day of which the Norland sagas tell,--

The Guest - Sonnet

© Sri Aurobindo

I have discovered my deep deathless being:
Masked by my front of mind, immense, serene
It meets the world with an Immortal's seeing,
A god-spectator of the human scene.

Girl To A Soldier On leave

© Isaac Rosenberg

Girl To A Soldier On Leave
Love! You love me your eyes
Have looked through death at mine.
You have tempted a grave too much
I let you I repine.

Hymns to the Night : 4

© Novalis

Now I know when will come the last morning - when the Light no more scares away Night and Love - when sleep shall be without waking, and but one continuous dream. I feel in me a celestial exhaustion. Long and weariful was my pilgrimage to the holy grave, and crushing was the cross. The crystal wave, which, imperceptible to the ordinary sense, springs in the dark bosom of the mound against whose foot breaks the flood of the world, he who has tasted it, he who has stood on the mountain frontier of the world, and looked across into the new land, into the abode of the Night - truly he turns not again into the tumult of the world, into the land where dwells the Light in ceaseless unrest.

On those heights he builds for himself tabernacles - tabernacles of peace, there longs and loves and gazes across, until the welcomest of all hours draws him down into the waters of the spring - afloat above remains what is earthly, and is swept back in storms, but what became holy by the touch of love, runs free through hidden ways to the region beyond, where, like fragrances, it mingles with love asleep.

To Myrtilis - The New Year's Offering

© Samuel Johnson

Madam,

Long have I look'd my tablets o'er,

My Dream

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

What can it mean? you ask. I answer not
For meaning, but myself must echo, What?
And tell it as I saw it on the spot.

Echo.

© Robert Crawford

Here, Echo, was thy reign of old,
Among these hills, a mystic crowd
Whose thunder rolled
When they speak loud

The Adventures Of Little Bob Bonnyface

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

(Don't you think that his was a wretched plight?
Just picture a boy from a bird in flight!
His heart and his knee-joints weak with fright.)

Hon. James B. Clay

© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

DIED JANUARY 26th, 1864, THE HON. JAMES B. CLAY, OF ASHLANDS, KENTUCKY, ELDEST SON OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS HENRY CLAY.

Another pang for Southern hearts,

The Botanic Garden (Part VII)

© Erasmus Darwin

THE LOVES OF THE PLANTS.

CANTO III.

Death & Co.

© Sylvia Plath

Two, of course there are two.
It seems perfectly natural now--
The one who never looks up, whose eyes are lidded
And balled¸ like Blake's.
Who exhibits

Ode To Liberty

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

Yet, Freedom, yet, thy banner, torn but flying,
Streams like a thunder-storm against the wind.--BYRON.
I.
A glorious people vibrated again

Rose Mary

Of her two fights with the Beryl-stone

Lost the first, but the second won.

The Death Of Adam

Cedars, that high upon the untrodden slopes
Of Lebanon stretch out their stubborn arms,
Through all the tempests of seven hundred years
Fast in their ancient place, where they look down

Desire

Thou, who dost dwell alone;
Thou, who dost know thine own;
Thou, to whom all are known,
From the cradle to the grave,--
Save, O, save!

The short Wooing

© Henry King

Like an Oblation set before a Shrine,
Fair One! I offer up this heart of mine.
Whether the Saint accept my Gift or no,
Ile neither fear nor doubt before I know.