Death poems
/ page 297 of 560 /
On the Welsh Language
© Katherine Philips
If honor to an ancient name be due,
Or riches challenge it for one that’s new,
Korner And His Sister
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Green wave the oak for ever o'er thy rest,
Thou that beneath its crowning foliage sleepest,
And, in the stillness of thy country's breast,
Thy place of memory, as an altar keepest;
Brightly thy spirit o'er her hills was pour'd,
Thou of the Lyre and Sword!
The Storm
© Adam Mickiewicz
The rudder breaks, the sails are ripped, the roar
Of waters mingles with the ominous sound
The Supper
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Blind Roger
Set the glass in my hand. I'm blind and old,
But still I shun to be left in the cold.
from The Bridge: Quaker Hill
© Hart Crane
Above them old Mizzentop, palatial white
Hostelry—floor by floor to cinquefoil dormer
Portholes the ceilings stack their stoic height.
Long tiers of windows staring out toward former
Faces—loose panes crown the hill and gleam
At sunset with a silent, cobwebbed patience . . .
The Night Before The Mowing
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
ALL shimmering in the morning shine
And diamonded with dew,
And quivering in the scented wind
That thrills its green heart through,--
Cold Calls: War Music, Continued
© Christopher Logue
Take Quinamid
The son of a Dardanian astrologer
Who disregarded what his father said
And came to Troy in a taxi.
A Ballad: The Lake of the Dismal Swamp
© Thomas Moore
Written at Norfolk, in Virginia
They made her a grave, too cold and damp
For a soul so warm and true;
And shes gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,
Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp,
She paddles her white canoe.
The Hill
© Nissim Ezekiel
Do not muse on it
from a distance:
it's not remote
for the view only,
it's for the sport
of climbing.
Fragments Written For Hellas
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
Fairest of the Destinies,
Disarray thy dazzling eyes:
Keener far thy lightnings are
From Blossoms
© Li-Young Lee
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.
On Parting
© Hristo Botev
1868
Don't cry, mother, don't grieve
that I grew up as an outlaw,
an outlaw, mother, a rebel,
The Sea of Death
© Thomas Hood
So lay they garmented in torpid light,
Under the pall of a transparent night,
Like solemn apparitions lulld sublime
To everlasting rest,and with them Time
Slept, as he sleeps upon the silent face
Of a dark dial in a sunless place.
The Dead Fox Hunter
© Robert Graves
We found the little captain at the head;
His men lay well-aligned.
We touched his hand &mdash stone cold &mdash and he was dead,
And they, all dead behind,
Had never reached their goal, but they died well;
They charged in line, and in the same line fell.
Never to Dream of Spiders
© Elizabeth Daryush
Once the renegade flesh was gone
fall air lay against my face
sharp and blue as a needle
but the rain fell through October
and death lay a condemnation
within my blood.
A Psalm Of Surrender
© Henry Van Dyke
My heart is like water poured upon the ground:
I have come alone to the place of surrender.
To thee, to thee only will I give up my sword:
The sword which was broken in thy service.
