Death poems
/ page 260 of 560 /
The Pauper
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
It dawned a morn to make a heart despair,
East was the wind and chill the April air.
319. Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn
© Robert Burns
THE WIND blew hollow frae the hills,
By fits the suns departing beam
Lookd on the fading yellow woods,
That wavd oer Lugars winding stream:
On the Death of His Eldest Son
© George Canning
Though short thy space, God's unimpeach'd decrees
Which made that shorten'd space one long disease;
The Splendid Shilling
© John Arthur Phillips
- - Sing, Heavenly Muse,
Things unattempted yet in Prose or Rhime,
A Shilling, Breeches, and Chimera's Dire.
92. Suppressed Stanzas of The Vision
© Robert Burns
The owner of a pleasant spot,
Near and sandy wilds, I last did note; 14
A heart too warm, a pulse too hot
At times, oerran:
But large in evry feature wrote,
Appeard the Man.
Book Fifth-Books
© William Wordsworth
There was a Boy: ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander!--many a time
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone
Beneath the trees or by the glimmering lake,
16. A Prayer under the Pressure of Violent Anguish
© Robert Burns
O THOU Great Being! what Thou art,
Surpasses me to know;
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee
Are all Thy works below.
284. SongCa the Yowes to the Knowes (older set)
© Robert Burns
Chorus.Ca the yowes to the knowes,
Ca them where the heather grows,
Ca them where the burnie rowes,
My bonie dearie
The Death
© Leon Gellert
Im hit. Its come at last, I feel a smart
Of needles in
My God
. Im hit again!
The Age Of The Antonines
© Herman Melville
While faith forecasts millennial years
Spite Europe's embattled lines,
53. Lines on the Authors Death
© Robert Burns
HE who of Rankine sang, lies stiff and dead,
And a green grassy hillock hides his head;
Alas! alas! a devilish change indeed.
52. Epitaph on John Rankine
© Robert Burns
AE day, as Death, that gruesome carl,
Was driving to the tither warl
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad,
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad
Our Martrys
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
I AM sitting alone and weary,
By the hearth of my darkened room,
And the low wind's miserere,
Makes sadder the midnight gloom.
54. Man was made to Mourn: A Dirge
© Robert Burns
WHEN chill Novembers surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
One evning, as I wanderd forth
Along the banks of Ayr,
39. Ballad on the American War
© Robert Burns
WHEN Guilford good our pilot stood
An did our hellim thraw, man,
Ae night, at tea, began a plea,
Within America, man:
The Dream Of The World Without Death
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
NOW, sitting by her side, worn out with weeping,
Behold, I fell to sleep, and had a vision,
62. Epistle to William Simson
© Robert Burns
Sae, ye observe that a this clatter
Is naething but a moonshine matter;
But tho dull prose-folk Latin splatter
In logic tulyie,
I hope we bardies ken some better
Than mind sic brulyie.
117. SongFarewell to Eliza
© Robert Burns
FROM thee, Eliza, I must go,
And from my native shore;
The cruel fates between us throw
A boundless oceans roar:
In Hospital
© Edith Nesbit
Under the shadow of a hawthorn brake,
Where bluebells draw the sky down to the wood,
280. The Kirk of Scotlands Alarm: A Ballad
© Robert Burns
ORTHODOX! orthodox, who believe in John Knox,
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience:
A heretic blast has been blown in the West,
That what is no sense must be nonsense,
Orthodox! That what is no sense must be nonsense.
