Death poems
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Ode, Written On The Opening Of The Last Campaign
© Amelia Opie
Spring! thy impatient bloom restrain,
Nor wake so soon thy genial pow'r,
Nightmare For Future Reference
© Stephen Vincent Benet
"Not like this," he said. "I can show you the curve.
It looks like the side of a mountain, going down.
And faster, the last three months yes, a good deal faster.
I showed it to Lobenheim and he was puzzled.
It makes a neat problem yes?" He looked at me.
The Coronation
© Thomas Hardy
Edward the Pious, and two Edwards more,
The second Richard, Henrys three or four;
Faiths Vista
© Henry Abbey
When from the vaulted wonder of the sky
The curtain of the light is drawn aside,
The Ghost - Book I
© Charles Churchill
With eager search to dart the soul,
Curiously vain, from pole to pole,
Ode On Venice
© George Gordon Byron
I.
Oh Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls
Are level with the waters, there shall be
A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls,
A loud lament along the sweeping sea!
If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee,
The Diver
© George MacDonald
"Which of you, knight or squire, will dare
Plunge into yonder gulf?
A golden beaker I fling in it-there!
The black mouth swallows it like a wolf!
Who brings me the cup again, whoever,
It is his own-he may keep it for ever!"
Deaths Chill Between
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Chide not; let me breathe a little,
For I shall not mourn him long;
Though the life-cord was so brittle,
The love-cord was very strong.
I would wake a little space
Till I find a sleeping-place.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto I.
© George Gordon Byron
Nay, smile not at my sullen brow,
Alas! I cannot smile again:
Yet Heaven avert that ever thou
Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain.
Laurance - [Part 1]
© Jean Ingelow
I.
He knew she did not love him; but so long
As rivals were unknown to him, he dwelt
At ease, and did not find his love a pain.
Requiescit
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
His name is cut upon a stone. His dreams
Were written on Time's hem; and Time has fled
And taken him and them. The grass is green
Upon his grave. I cannot doubt he sleeps.
The Future.
© Caroline Norton
I WAS a laughing child, and gaily dwelt
Where murmuring brooks, and dark blue rivers roll'd,
The Triumph Of Melancholy
© James Beattie
Memory, be still! why throng upon the thought
These scenes deep-stain'd with Sorrow's sable dye?
Hast thou in store no joy-illumined draught,
To cheer bewilder'd Fancy's tearful eye?
Nothing and Something
© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
It is nothing to me, the young man cried:
In his eye was a flash of scorn and pride;
I heed not the dreadful things ye tell:
I can rule myself I know full well.
Margaret Of Cortona
© Edith Wharton
I rave, you say? You start from me, Fra Paolo?
Go, then; your going leaves me not alone.
I marvel, rather, that I feared the question,
Since, now I name it, it draws near to me
With such dear reassurance in its eyes,
And takes your place beside me. . .
Second Class wait here
© Henry Lawson
At suburban railway stations--you may see them as you pass--
there are signboards on the platform saying "Wait here second class,"
Fire
© Dorothea Mackellar
This life that we call our own
Is neither strong nor free;
A flame in the wind of death,
It trembles ceaselessly.
Manhattan Streets I Saunter'd, Pondering
© Walt Whitman
Manhatten's streets I saunter'd, pondering,
On time, space, reality-on such as these, and abreast with them,
prudence.
