Death poems
/ page 39 of 560 /
Upon the Epiphany, and the Three Wise Men of the East coming to Worship Jesus
© Jeremy Taylor
A comet dangling in the aire,
Presag'd the ruine both of Death and Sin;
The Eighth Olympic Ode Of Pindar
© Henry James Pye
To Alcimedon, on his Olympic Victory; Timosthenes, on his Nemean Victory; and Melesias, their Preceptor. ARGUMENT. Though this is called an Olympic Ode, the Poet does not confine himself to Alcimedon, who won the Prize in those Games, but celebrates his Brother Timosthenes, for his success at Nemea, and Melesias, their Instructor. The Ode opens with an invocation to the place where the Games were held. Pindar then, after praising Timosthenes for his early victory in the Nemean Games, mentions Alcimedon, and extols him for his dexterity and strength, his beauty, and his country Ægina; which he celebrates for it's hospitality, and for it's being under the government of the Dorians after the death of Æacus; on whom he has a long digression, giving an account of his assisting the Gods in the building of Troy. Then returning to his subject, he mentions Melesias as skilled himself in the Athletic Exercises, and therefore proper to instruct others; and, enumerating his Triumphs, congratulates him on the success of his Pupil Alcimedon; which, he says, will not only give satisfaction to his living Relations, but will delight the Ghosts of those deceased. The Poet then concludes with a wish for the prosperity of him and his family.
STROPHE I.
The Tempest
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Come, teasing wind, we will fly,
Seek our heart's desire, you and I;
To Dr. Sherlock, On His Practical Discourse Concerning Death
© Matthew Prior
Forgive the muse who, in unhallow'd strains,
The saint one moment from his God detains;
Mary Magdalene I
© Boris Pasternak
The deathly silence is not far;
A few more moments only matter,
Which the Inevitable bar.
But at the edge, before they scatter,
In front of Thee my life I shatter,
As though an alabaster jar.
Tale V
© George Crabbe
these,
All that on idle, ardent spirits seize;
Robbers at land and pirates on the main,
Enchanters foil'd, spells broken, giants slain;
Legends of love, with tales of halls and bowers,
Choice of rare songs, and garlands of choice
Song. "You ask why these mountains"
© Amelia Opie
YOU ask why these mountains delight me no more,
And why lovely Clwyd's attractions are o'er;
Ah! have you not heard, then, the cause of my pain?
The pride of fair Clwyd, the boast of the plain,
We never, no never, shall gaze on again!
An Epitaph upon Husband and Wife Who died and were buried together
© Richard Crashaw
TO these whom death again did wed
This grave 's the second marriage-bed.
Wife To Husband
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Pardon the faults in me,
For the love of years ago:
Good-bye.
I must drift across the sea,
I must sink into the snow,
I must die.
The Hand In The Dark
© Ada Cambridge
How calm the spangled city spread below!
How cool the night! How fair the starry skies!
How sweet the dewy breezes! But I know
What, under all their seeming beauty, lies.
Stanza From A Translation Of The Marseillaise Hymn
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Tremble, Kings despised of man!
Ye traitors to your Country,
Tremble! Your parricidal plan
At length shall meet its destiny...
Ode to Rae Wilson Esq.
© Thomas Hood
Mere verbiage,it is not worth a carrot!
Why, Socratesor Platowhere's the odds?
Once taught a jay to supplicate the Gods,
And made a Polly-theist of a Parrot!
On A Movement Of Beethovens
© George MacDonald
Ave! Once more touch the strings
That Memory may feed upon the strain,
And over-live again
The days,
When the heart gloried in the golden lays
That give the spirit wings.
The Princess (part 6)
© Alfred Tennyson
My dream had never died or lived again.
As in some mystic middle state I lay;
Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard:
Though, if I saw not, yet they told me all
So often that I speak as having seen.
Washington!
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
Feb. 22, 1732
BRIGHT natal morn! what face appears
Beyond the rolling mist of years?
A face whose loftiest traits, combine
Childish Recollections
© George Gordon Byron
'I cannot but remember such things were,
And were most dear to me.'
WHEN slow Disease, with all her host of pains,
Chills the warm, tide which flows along the veins
The Daemon Of The World
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Nec tantum prodere vati,
Quantum scire licet. Venit aetas omnis in unam
Congeriem, miserumque premunt tot saecula pectus.
Will Yer Write It Down for Me?
© Henry Lawson
And the backblocks bard goes through it, ever seeking as he goes
For the line of least resistance to the hearts of men he knows;
And he tracks their hearts in mateship, and he tracks them out alone
Seeking for the power to sway them, till he finds it in his own,
Feels what they feel, loves what they love, learns to hate what they condemn,
Takes his pen in tears and triumph, and he writes it down for them.
