Death poems

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Interrupted Meditation

© Robert Hass

Little green involute fronds of fern at creekside.

And the sinewy clear water rushing over creekstone

The Baptistry

© Ada Cambridge

One winter eve, at twilight, when the sound
Of sorrowful winds scarce troubled Nature's rest,
As she lay sleeping, with her hair unbound,
Holding her grey robe to her shivering breast,

[Buffalo Bill 's]

© Edward Estlin Cummings

Buffalo Bill 's
defunct
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver
stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat

Monte Cassino. Terra Di Lavoro. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fourth)

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Beautiful valley! through whose verdant meads
Unheard the Garigliano glides along;--
The Liris, nurse of rushes and of reeds,
The river taciturn of classic song.

You Were My Death

© Paul Celan

You were my death:
you I could hold
when all fell away from me.

What Light Destroys

© Andrew Hudgins

Today I’m thinking of St. Paul—St. Paul,

who orders us, Be perfect. He could have said,

Causerie

© Allen Tate

. . . party on the stage of the Earl Carroll Theatre on
Feb. 23. At this party Joyce Hawley, a chorus-girl,
bathed in the nude in a bathtub filled with alleged
wine. New York Times.

Sonnet LXXIII: That Time of Year thou mayst in me Behold

© William Shakespeare

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Song. Sorrow

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

To me this world's a dreary blank,
All hopes in life are gone and fled,
My high strung energies are sank,
And all my blissful hopes lie dead.--

The First Part: Sonnet 1 - In my first years, and prime yet not at height

© William Henry Drummond

In my first years, and prime yet not at height,

When sweet conceits my wits did entertain,

A GADARENE.
He hath escaped, hath plucked his chains asunder,
And broken his fetters; always night and day
Is in the mountains here, and in the tombs,
Crying aloud, and cutting himself with stones,
Exceeding fierce, so that no man can tame him!

Trilogy Of Passion 01 To Werther

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The farewell sunbeams bless'd our ravish'd view;
Fate bade thee go,-to linger here was mine,-
Going the first, the smaller loss was thine.

Though I Am Young and Cannot Tell

© Benjamin Jonson

Though I am young, and cannot tell

Either what Death or Love is well,

Upon A Branch Of Flowering Acacia

© Frances Anne Kemble

The blossoms hang again upon the tree,

As when with their sweet breath they greeted me

Aspromonte

So you think he is defeated, O ye comfortably seated,
And that Victory is meted in your loaded huckster's scales?
O ye fools! though justice tarry, yet by heaven broad and starry,
Right, howe'er it may miscarry, ere the end arrive, prevails.

The Congo: A Study of the Negro Race

© Roald Dahl

I. THEIR BASIC SAVAGERY

Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room,

Hotel Lautréamont

© John Ashbery

1.
Research has shown that ballads were produced by all of society
working as a team. They didn’t just happen. There was no guesswork.
The people, then, knew what they wanted and how to get it.
We see the results in works as diverse as “Windsor Forest” and “The Wife of Usher’s Well.”