Death poems
/ page 342 of 560 /
By A Norfolk Broad
© Ada Cambridge
One hour ago the crimson sun, that seemed so long a-drowning, sank.
The summer day is all but done. Our boat is moored beneath the bank.
I bask in peace, content, replete-my faithful comrade at my feet.
Thoughts Of A Soldier
© Edgar Albert Guest
Since men with life must purchase life
And some must die that more may live,
Jerusalem Delivered - Book 04 - part 01
© Torquato Tasso
THE ARGUMENT.
Satan his fiends and assembleth all,
The Themes
© Millosh Gjergj Nikolla
On the pallid faces of fallen women
Loitering in doorways to sell themselves,
On their faces a tragic poem is carved
In tears and grief that rise to the heavens,
For Charles Dickens
© Mary Hannay Foott
He brings no pageants of the past
To wile our hearts away;
But wins our love for those who cast
Their lot with ours to-day.
After My Death
© Hayyim Nahman Bialik
And great, great is the pain!
There was a man-and see: he is no more,
and his life's song in mid-bar stopped,
one more song he had to go,
and now the song is gone for good,
gone for good!
Change
© William Dean Howells
SOMETIMES, when after spirited debate
Of letters or affairs, in thought I go
Liberté
© Paul Eluard
On my school notebooks
On my desk and on the trees
On the sands of snow
I write your name
On Leaping Over the Moon
© Thomas Traherne
As much as others thought themselves to lie
Beneath the moon, so much more high
Himself he thought to fly
Above the starry sky,
As that he spied
Below the tide.
Elegy XXI. Taking a View of the Country From His Retirement
© William Shenstone
Thus Damon sung-What though unknown to praise,
Umbrageous coverts hide my Muse and me,
Or mid the rural shepherds flow my days?
Amid the rural shepherds, I am free.
The Firing-Line
© Henry Lawson
In the dreadful din of a ghastly fight they are shooting, murdering, men;
In the smothering silence of ghastly peace we murder with tongue and pen.
Where is heard the tap of the typewriterwhere the track of reform they mine
Where they stand to the frame or the linotypewe are all in the firingline.
The Rain And The Wind
© William Ernest Henley
The rain and the wind, the wind and the rain -
They are with us like a disease:
Elvir-Shades
© George Borrow
A sultry eve pursu'd a sultry day;
Dark streaks of purple in the sky were seen,
And shadows half conceal'd the lonely way;
Song Of The Aviator
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
You may thrill with the speed of your thoroughbred steed,
You may laugh with delight as you ride the ocean,
Armenian Folk-Song--The Stork
© Eugene Field
Welcome, O truant stork!
And where have you been so long?
And do you bring that grace of spring
That filleth my heart with song?
The Sobbing Of The Bells
© Walt Whitman
THE sobbing of the bells, the sudden death-news everywhere,
The slumberer's rouse, the rapport of the People,
HYMN to CHRIST for our Regeneration and Resurrection.
© Mather Byles
I.
To Thee, my Lord, I lift the Song,
Awake, my tuneful Pow'rs:
In constant Praise my grateful Tongue
Shall fill my foll'wing Hours.
Requiem
© George Meredith
Where faces are hueless, where eyelids are dewless,
Where passion is silent and hearts never crave;
Where thought hath no theme, and where sleep hath no dream,
In patience and peace thou art gone-to thy grave!
Gone where no warning can wake thee to morning,
Dead tho' a thousand hands stretch'd out to save.
For Louis Pasteur
© Edgar Bowers
How shall a generation know its story
If it will know no other? When, among
