Death poems

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Accolon Of Gaul: Part I

© Madison Julius Cawein

  "Will love grow less when dead the roguish Spring,
  Who from gay eyes sowed violets whispering;
  Peach petals in wild cheeks, wan-wasted thro'
  Of withering grief, laid lovely 'neath the dew,
  Will love grow less?

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Songs of Praise the Angels Sang

© James Montgomery

Songs of praise the angels sang,
Heav’n with alleluias rang,
When creation was begun,
When God spoke and it was done.

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The Last Battle Of The Cid

© Ada Cambridge

Low he lay upon his dying couch, the knight without a stain,
The unconquered Cid Campeadór, the bright breastplate of Spain,
The incarnate honour of Castille, of Aragon and Navarre,
Very crown of Spanish chivalry, Rodrigo of Bivar!

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Fragments Supposed To Be Parts Of Otho

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

II.
Dark is the realm of grief: but human things
Those may not know who cannot weep for them.
...

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Transformation: Sonnet

© Sri Aurobindo

I am no more a vassal of flesh,
A slave to Nature and her leaden rule;
I am caught no more in the senses’ narrow mesh.
My soul unhorizoned widens to measureless sight,
My body is God’s happy living tool,
My spirit a vast sun of deathless light.

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Thoughts on Predestination and Reprobation : Part I.

© John Byrom

Flatter me not with your Predestination,
Nor sink my spirits with your Reprobation.
From all your high disputes I stand aloof,
Your Pres and Res, your Destiny, and your Proof;
And formal Calvinistical pretence,
That contradicts all Gospel, and good sense.

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Dream Song 10

© John Berryman

There were strange gatherings. A vote would come
that would be no vote. There would come a rope.
Yes. There would come a rope.
Men have their hats down. "Dancing in the Dark"
will see him up, car-radio-wise. So many, some
won't find a rut to park.

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Early Death

© Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal

Oh grieve not with thy bitter tears
The life that passes fast;
The gates of heaven will open wide
And take me in at last.

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The Garden of Prosperine

© Algernon Charles Swinburne

From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever;

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The Battle of Life

© Owen Suffolk

Up! and arm for life's struggle,

We shall conquer in the fight,

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The Killing

© Edwin Muir

I was a stranger, could not read these people
Or this outlandish deity. Did a God
Indeed in dying cross my life that day
By chance, he on his road and I on mine?

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Doom

© Adelaide Crapsey

Peter stands by the gate,

And Michael by the throne.

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"How hard for me, the splendor of this crown and robe"

© Osip Emilevich Mandelstam


-- O, if hate would boil in my breast --
but see, the admission itself
has fallen from my lips.

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Nathan The Wise - Act II

© Gotthold Ephraim Lessing

  But out of my dilemma
'Tis not so easy to escape unhurt.
Well, you must have the knight.

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An Heroic Epistle of Hudibras To His Lady

© Samuel Butler

I who was once as great as Caesar,

Am now reduc'd to Nebuchadnezzar;

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Siste Viator

© Augusta Davies Webster

WHAT is it that is dead?
Somewhere there is a grave, and something lies
Cold in the ground, and stirs not for my sighs,
 Nor songs that I can make, nor smiles from me,
Nor tenderest foolish words that I have said;
 Something that was has hushed, and will not be.

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Invitation To Eternity

© John Clare

Say, wilt thou go with me, sweet maid,

Say, maiden, wilt thou go with me

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Idyll XVII. The Praise of Ptolemy

© Theocritus

  "Wake, babe, to bliss: prize me, as Phoebus doth
  His azure-sphered Delos: grace the hill
  Of Triops, and the Dorians' sister shores,
  As king Apollo his Rhenaea's isle."

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When You Are Old

© William Ernest Henley

Dear Heart, it shall be so.  Under the sway
Of death the past’s enormous disarray
Lies hushed and dark.  Yet though there come no sign,
Live on well pleased: immortal and divine
Love shall still tend you, as God’s angels may,
  When you are old.

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The Brother Of Mercy

© John Greenleaf Whittier

Piero Luca, known of all the town
As the gray porter by the Pitti wall
Where the noon shadows of the gardens fall,
Sick and in dolor, waited to lay down
His last sad burden, and beside his mat
The barefoot monk of La Certosa sat.