Death poems
/ page 271 of 560 /
Henry Bartle Edward Frere
© Alfred Austin
Bend down and read-the birth, the death, the name.
Born in the year that Waterloo was won,
"An idle poet, dreaming"
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
AN idle poet, dreaming in the sun,
One given to much unhallowed vagrancy
Of thought and step; who, when he comes to die.
In the broad world can point to nothing done;
To Mrs. M. A. at Parting
© Katherine Philips
I Have examin'd and do find,
Of all that favour me
There's none I grieve to leave behind
But only only thee.
To part with thee I needs must die,
Could parting sep'rate thee and I.
In memory of that excellent person Mrs. Mary Lloyd of Bodidrist in Denbigh-shire
© Katherine Philips
I CANNOT hold, for though to write were rude,
Yet to be silent were Ingratitude,
And Folly too; for if Posterity
Should never hear of such a one as thee,
To My Antenor
© Katherine Philips
My dear Antenor now give o're,
For my sake talk of Graves no more;
Death is not in our power to gain,
And is both wish'd and fear'd in vain
La Solitude de St. Amant
© Katherine Philips
1O! Solitude, my sweetest choice
Places devoted to the night,
Remote from tumult, and from noise,
How you my restless thoughts delight!
Friendships Mystery, To My Dearest Lucasia
© Katherine Philips
Come, my Lucasia, since we see
That miracles Men's Faith do move,
By wonder and by prodigy
To the dull angry World let's prove
There's a Religion in our Love.
The World
© Katherine Philips
Wee falsely think it due unto our friends,
That we should grieve for their too early ends:
He that surveys the world with serious eys,
And stripps Her from her grosse and weak disguise,
Consolation. (To M. Duperrier, Gentleman Of Aix In Provence, On The Death Of His Daughter)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Will then, Duperrier, thy sorrow be eternal?
And shall the sad discourse
Whispered within thy heart, by tenderness paternal,
Only augment its force?
Ballade To Our Lady
© Francois Villon
I, thy poor Christian, on thy name do call,
Commending me to thee, with thee to dwell,
Albeit in nought I be commendable.
The Death Of Grant
© Ambrose Bierce
Father! whose hard and cruel law
Is part of thy compassion's plan,
Thy works presumptuously we scan
For what the prophets say they saw.
A God's Labour
© Sri Aurobindo
I have gathered my dreams in a silver air
Between the gold and the blue
And wrapped them softly and left them there,
My jewelled dreams of you.
L'Avenir
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
I saw the human millions as the sand
Unruffled on the starlit wilderness.
To Ireland
© Alfred Austin
``What ails you, Sister Erin, that your face
Is, like your mountains, still bedewed with tears?
The Vanity Of Human Wishes
© Michael Wigglesworth
I walk'd and did a little Mole-hill view
Full peopled with a most industrious crew
Little Ballads Of Timely Warning; III: On Laziness And Its Resultant Ills
© Ellis Parker Butler
There was a man in New York City
(His name was George Adolphus Knight)
So soft of heart he wept with pity
To see our language and its plight.
Jabed Meeker, Humorist
© Ellis Parker Butler
You aint met him? Son, youve missed
The most funniest humorist
Ive met with in my born days
Funniest talker, anyways,
When it comes to repartee
Thats the humor catches me!
Immortality
© Ellis Parker Butler
I bowed my head in anguish sore
When Life made Death his bride;
Soul, we are lost forever more!
Unto my soul I cried.
Thy Day's are Done
© George Gordon Byron
Thy days are done, thy fame begun;
Thy country's strains record
The triumphs of her chosen Son,
The slaughter of his sword!
The deeds he did, the fields he won,
The freedom he restored!
