Death poems
/ page 272 of 560 /
Everything
© Anna Akhmatova
Everythings looted, betrayed and traded,
black deaths wings overhead.
Everythings eaten by hunger, unsated,
so why does a light shine ahead?
Two Views Of A Cadaver Room
© Sylvia Plath
1
The day she visited the dissecting room
They had four men laid out, black as burnt turkey,
Already half unstrung. A vinegary fume
Why Is This Age Worse...?
© Anna Akhmatova
Why is this age worse than earlier ages?
In a stupor of grief and dread
have we not fingered the foulest wounds
and left them unhealed by our hands?
Lot's Wife
© Anna Akhmatova
And the just man trailed God's shining agent,
over a black mountain, in his giant track,
while a restless voice kept harrying his woman:
"It's not too late, you can still look back
Hymn To Death
© William Cullen Bryant
Oh! could I hope the wise and pure in heart
Might hear my song without a frown, nor deem
Wild Dreams Of A New Beginning
© Lawrence Ferlinghetti
There's a breathless hush on the freeway tonight
Beyond the ledges of concrete
restaurants fall into dreams
with candlelight couples
Constantly Risking Absurdity
© Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Constantly risking absurdity
and death
whenever he performs
above the heads
Under Siege
© Mahmoud Darwish
Here on the slopes of hills, facing the dusk and the cannon of time
Close to the gardens of broken shadows,
We do what prisoners do,
And what the jobless do:
We cultivate hope.
A Lover From Palestine
© Mahmoud Darwish
Her eyes are Palestinian
Her name is Palestinian
Her dress and sorrow Palestinian
Her kerchief, her feet and body Palestinian
To A Lady On The Death Of The Three Relations
© Phillis Wheatley
WE trace the pow'r of Death from tomb to tomb,
And his are all the ages yet to come.
'Tis his to call the planets from on high,
To blacken Phoebus, and dissolve the sky;
On the Death of the Rev. Dr. Sewell
© Phillis Wheatley
Ere yet the morn its lovely blushes spread,
See Sewell number'd with the happy dead.
Hail, holy man, arriv'd th' immortal shore,
Though we shall hear thy warning voice no more.
To His Honour the Lieutenant-Governor
© Phillis Wheatley
All-Conquering Death! by thy resistless pow'r,
Hope's tow'ring plumage falls to rise no more!
Of scenes terrestrial how the glories fly,
Forget their splendors, and submit to die!
To a Gentleman on His Voyage to Great-Britain
© Phillis Wheatley
While others chant of gay Elysian scenes,
Of balmy zephyrs, and of flow'ry plains,
My song more happy speaks a greater name,
Feels higher motives and a nobler flame.
On The Death Of Dr. Samuel Marshall
© Phillis Wheatley
THROUGH thickest glooms look back, immortal
shade,
On that confusion which thy death has made:
Or from Olympus' height look down, and see
Thoughts On The Works Of Providence
© Phillis Wheatley
A R I S E, my soul, on wings enraptur'd, rise
To praise the monarch of the earth and skies,
Whose goodness and benificence appear
As round its centre moves the rolling year,
Niobe in Distress
© Phillis Wheatley
Seven sprightly sons the royal bed adorn,
Seven daughters beauteous as the op'ning morn,
As when Aurora fills the ravish'd sight,
And decks the orient realms with rosy light
From their bright eyes the living splendors play,
Nor can beholders bear the flashing ray.
To The Honourable T. H. Esq; On the Death Of His Daughter
© Phillis Wheatley
WHILE deep you mourn beneath the cypress-shade
The hand of Death, and your dear daughter
laid
In dust, whose absence gives your tears to flow,
On The Death Of A Young Lady Of Five Years Of Age
© Phillis Wheatley
FROM dark abodes to fair etherial light
Th' enraptur'd innocent has wing'd her flight;
On the kind bosom of eternal love
She finds unknown beatitude above.
On The Death Of J. C. An Infant
© Phillis Wheatley
NO more the flow'ry scenes of pleasure rife,
Nor charming prospects greet the mental eyes,
No more with joy we view that lovely face
Smiling, disportive, flush'd with ev'ry grace.
