Death poems

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The Task: Book II. -- The Time-Piece

© William Cowper

In man or woman, but far most in man,
And most of all in man that ministers
And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe
All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn;
Object of my implacable disgust.

Introduction And Conclusion Of A Long Poem

© Alan Seeger

I have gone sometimes by the gates of Death

And stood beside the cavern through whose doors

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread;
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.

October

© William Cullen Bryant

Ay, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath!
When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief
And the year smiles as it draws near its death.

The Lamp Of Poor Souls

© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

Cradled is he, with half his prayers forgot.
I cannot learn the level way he goes.
He whom the harvest hath remembered not
Sleeps with the rose.

Melampus

© George Meredith

I

With love exceeding a simple love of the things

Consumption

© William Cullen Bryant

Ay, thou art for the grave; thy glances shine
Too brightly to shine long; another Spring
Shall deck her for men's eyes---but not for thine---
Sealed in a sleep which knows no wakening.

In The Waste Hour

© William Ernest Henley

Nay, there were we,
Her five strong sons!
To her Death came--the great Deliverer came! -
As equal comes to equal, throne to throne.
She was a mother of men.

The Appeal

© Walter Savage Landor

REMAIN, ah not in youth alone,
Though youth, where you are, long will stay,
But when my summer days are gone,
And my autumnal haste away.

Life And death

© William Baylebridge

This world is driven by two contending powers-

Love, that coerceth Heaven to dwell with dust,

Under Arcturus

© Madison Julius Cawein

I
I BELT the morn with ribboned mist;
With baldricked blue I gird the noon,
And dusk with purple, crimson-kissed,
White-buckled with the hunters-moon.

79. Adam Armours Prayer

© Robert Burns

As for the jurr-puir worthless body!
Shes got mischief enough already;
Wi stanged hips, and buttocks bluidy
Shes sufferd sair;
But, may she wintle in a woody,
If she wh-e mair!

From Torrismond - In A Garden By Moonlight

Veronica. COME then, a song; a winding gentle song,

To lead me into sleep. Let it be low

October 21, 1905

The hundred years have passed, and he

Whose name appeased a nation's fears,

The First Part: Sonnet 4 - Fair is my yoke, though grievous be my pains,

Fair is my yoke, though grievous be my pains,

Sweet are my wounds, although they deeply smart,

Abd-El-Kader At Toulon Or, The Caged Hawk

No more, thou lithe and long-winged hawk, of desert-life for thee;
No more across the sultry sands shalt thou go swooping free:
Blunt idle talons, idle beak, with spurning of thy chain,
Shatter against thy cage the wing thou ne'er may'st spread again.