Death poems
/ page 354 of 560 /
A Womans Apology
© Alfred Austin
In the green darkness of a summer wood,
Wherethro' ran winding ways, a lady stood,
Carved from the air in curving womanhood.
The Rock Of The Betrayed
© Caroline Norton
IT was a Highland chieftain's son
Gazed sadly from the hill:
And they saw him shrink from the autumn wind,
As its blast came keen and chill.
II.
Tribute To Oliver Wendell Holmes
© Julia Ward Howe
Thou man of noble mould!
Whose metal grows not cold
Beneath the hammer of the hurrying years;
A fiery breath doth blow
Across its fervid glow,
And still its resonance delights our ears;
Raleighs Cell In The Tower
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
HERE writ was the World's History by his hand
Whose steps knew all the earth; albeit his world
Homeward Going
© Roderic Quinn
GRAY smoke in the green leaves,
Someone homeward going,
No sound in the lone hills . . .
Only cattle lowing.
The Eagles
© Jones Very
THE eagles gather on the place of death
So thick the ground is spotted with their wings,
Andromeda
© Charles Kingsley
Over the sea, past Crete, on the Syrian shore to the southward,
Dwells in the well-tilled lowland a dark-haired AEthiop people,
The Unseen
© Sara Teasdale
DEATH went up the hall
Unseen by every one,
Trailing twilight robes
Past the nurse and the nun.
Les Noyades
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
WHATEVER a man of the sons of men
Shall say to his heart of the lords above,
They have shown man verily, once and again,
Marvellous mercies and infinite love.
On the Death of a Young Gentleman
© Phillis Wheatley
And thy full joys into their bosoms pour;
The raging tempest of their grief control,
And spread the dawn of glory through the soul,
To eye the path the saint departed trod,
And trace him to the bosom of his God.
The Prisoner
© Emily Jane Brontë
STILL let my tyrants know, I am not doom'd to wear
Year after year in gloom and desolate despair;
A messenger of Hope comes every night to me,
And offers for short life, eternal liberty.
Armageddon
© Leon Gellert
red with the bleeding year.
Sound is but a knell,
and Sleep has a scarlet bed.
Dreams are wet with Fear,
and Honour sits in Hell.
The Parting Of The Ways
© James Russell Lowell
Who hath not been a poet? Who hath not,
With life's new quiver full of winged years,
Shot at a venture, and then, following on,
Stood doubtful at the Parting of the Ways?
Gotham - Book III
© Charles Churchill
Can the fond mother from herself depart?
Can she forget the darling of her heart,
Lady Constance
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
My Love, my Lord,
I think the toil of glorious day is done.
I see thee leaning on thy jewelled sword,
And a light-hearted child of France
Is dancing to thee in the sun,
And thus he carols in his dance.
The Day Before I Die
© Henry Lawson
THERES such a lot of work to do, for such a troubled head!
Im scribbling this against a book, with foolscap round, in bed.
It strikes me that Ill scribble much in this way by and by,
And write my last lines so perchance the day before I die.
To -----
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Fair Nature's priestesses! to whom,
In hieroglyph of bud and bloom,
Her mysteries are told;
Who, wise in lore of wood and mead,
The seasons' pictured scrolls can read,
In lessons manifold!
A Song Of Winds
© Roderic Quinn
WOE to the weak when the sky is shrouded,
And the wind of the salt-way sobs as it dies!
Woe to the weak! for a great dejection
Droops their spirits and drowns their eyes.
