Death poems
/ page 362 of 560 /
Autumn Winds
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Oh! Autumn winds, what means this plaintive wailing
Around the quiet homestead where we dwell?
Mogg Megone - Part I.
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Who stands on that cliff, like a figure of stone,
Unmoving and tall in the light of the sky,
Lucasta At The Bath.
© Richard Lovelace
I.
I' th' autumn of a summer's day,
When all the winds got leave to play,
LUCASTA, that fair ship, is lanch'd,
And from its crust this almond blanch'd.
Metamorphoses: Book The Eleventh
© Ovid
The End of the Eleventh Book.
Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands
The "Alice Jean"
© Robert Graves
One moonlit night a ship drove in,
A ghost ship from the west,
Drifting with bare mast and lone tiller,
Like a mermaid drest
In long green weed and barnacles:
She beached and came to rest.
Jerusalem Delivered - Book 05 - part 03
© Torquato Tasso
XXXIII
Arnoldo, minion of the Prince thus slain,
And Now In Accents Deep And Low
© Washington Allston
And now, in accents deep and low,
Like voice of fondly-cherish'd woe,
Before Dawn
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
SWEET LIFE, if life were stronger,
Earth clear of years that wrong her,
The Lord of Burleigh
© Alfred Tennyson
IN her ear he whispers gaily,
'If my heart by signs can tell,
Epitaph For William Pitt
© George Gordon Byron
With death doom'd to grapple,
Beneath this cold slab, he
Who lied in the Chapel
Now lies in the Abbey.
Unseasonable Snows
© Alfred Austin
The leaves have not yet gone; then why do ye come,
O white flakes falling from a dusky cloud?
On The Death Of Rev. William Benwell, M.A.
© William Lisle Bowles
Thou camest with kind looks, when on the brink
Almost of death I strove, and with mild voice
The Bride Of The Nile - Act II
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Belkís. I cannot do these sums
So long before the date. In the meanwhile talk to me.
I want to be amused. Life will go drearily
If we are to be like this. Let us play at something--chess,
Or draughts, or dominoes. Ask me a thing to guess--
An intellectual game.
To the Queen at Oxford
© Henry King
Great Lady! That thus quite against our use,
We speak your welcome by an English Muse,
And in a vulgar tongue our zeales contrive,
Is to confess your large prerogative,
Swift's Pastoral
© Padraic Colum
ESTHER
I know the answer: 'tis ingenious.
I'm tired of your riddles, Doctor Swift.
In Camp (Camp-ey)
© Jibanananda Das
Here on the edge of the forest I pitched camp.
All night long in pleasant southern breezes
By the moon's light
I listen to the call of a doe in heat.
To whom is she calling?
