Death poems
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To The Memory Of Heber
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
If it be sad to speak of treasures gone,
Of sainted genius call'd too soon away,
Of light, from this world taken, while it shone
Yet kindling onward to the perfect day;
How shall our grief, if mournful these things be,
Flow forth, oh, Thou of many gifts! for thee?
Epilogue: Songs Before Sunrise
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
Between the wave-ridge and the strand
I let you forth in sight of land,
The Soul
© Madison Julius Cawein
A heritage of hopes and fears
And dreams and memory,
And vices of ten thousand years
God gives to thee.
Lifeis what we make of it
© Emily Dickinson
Lifeis what we make of it
Deathwe do not know
Christ's acquaintance with Him
Justify Himthough
The Drovers
© Henry Lawson
Shrivelled leather, rusty buckles, and the rot is in our knuckles,
Scorched for months upon the pommel while the brittle rein hung free;
Vlamertinghe: Passing the Chateau
© Edmund Blunden
'And all her silken flanks with garlands drest' -
But we are coming to the sacrifice.
Must those flowers who are not yet gone West?
May those flowers who live with death and lice?
The Raven. Christmas Tale, Told By A School-Boy To His Little Brothers And Sisters
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet,
And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet,
And he thank'd him again and again for this treat:
They had taken his all; and Revenge it was sweet!
All Things will Die
© Alfred Tennyson
Over the sky.
One after another the white clouds are fleeting;
Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating
Easter
© Edgar Albert Guest
OUT of the darkness and shadow of death,
Out of the anguish that wells from the tomb,
Translation From Alfred De Mussets Ode To Malibran
© Frances Anne Kemble
O Maria Felicia! the Painter and Bard,
Behind them in dying leave undying heirs,
Twenty-First Sunday After Trinity
© John Keble
The morning mist is cleared away,
Yet still the face of Heaven is grey,
Nor yet this autumnal breeze has stirred the grove,
Faded yet full, a paler green
Skirts soberly the tranquil scene,
The red-breast warbles round this leafy cove.
Gaspara Stampa
© William Rose Benet
I burned, I wept, I sang: I burn, sing, weep again,
And I shall weep and sing, I shall forever burn
Until or death or time or fortunes turn
Shall still my eye and heart, still fire and pain.
The Countess
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Over the wooded northern ridge,
Between its houses brown,
To the dark tunnel of the bridge
The street comes straggling down.
Song. Despair
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Ask not the pallid stranger's woe,
With beating heart and throbbing breast,
Whose step is faltering, weak, and slow,
As though the body needed rest.--
The shiv'ring piano, foaming at the mouth
© Boris Pasternak
The shiv'ring piano, foaming at the mouth,
Will wrench you by its ravings, discompose you.
"My darling," you will murmur. "No!" I'll shout.
"To music?!" Yet can two be ever closer
"I Have Loved Flowers That Fade"
© Robert Seymour Bridges
I have loved flowers that fade,
Within whose magic tents
Eclogue The Third
© Thomas Chatterton
Botte whether, fayre mayde do ye goe,
O where do ye bend yer waie?
I wile knowe whether you goe,
I wylle not be asseled naie.
Songs From Deaths Jest-Book II - Dirge
© Thomas Lovell Beddoes
IF thou wilt ease thine heart
Of love and all its smart,
Sonnet XLI. To Tranquility
© Charlotte Turner Smith
IN this tumultuous sphere, for thee unfit,
How seldom art thou found--Tranquillity!
Unless 'tis when with mild and downcast eye
By the low cradles thou delight'st to sit
