Death poems
/ page 420 of 560 /
1991-i
© Wendell Berry
The year begins with war.
Our bombs fall day and night,
Hour after hour, by death
Abroad appeasing wrath,
Wind at Tindari
© Salvatore Quasimodo
Tindari, I know you
mild between broad hills,
overhanging the waters
of the gods sweet islands.
Today, you confront me
and break into my heart.
The Man Born to Farming
© Wendell Berry
The Grower of Trees, the gardener, the man born to farming,
whose hands reach into the ground and sprout
to him the soil is a divine drug. He enters into death
yearly, and comes back rejoicing. He has seen the light lie down
The Woodland Grave
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WE roam, my love and I,
'Mid the rich woodland grasses,
Where, through dense clouds of greenery,
The softened sunshine passes;
But near a rivulet's lonely wave
We come half startled, on--a grave!
A Dramatic Poem
© William Butler Yeats
Second Sailor. And I had thought to make
A good round Sum upon this cruise, and turn -
For I am getting on in life - to something
That has less ups and downs than robbery.
Christ On Earth
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
HAD we but lived in those mysterious days,
When, a veiled God 'mid unregenerate men,
Christ calmly walked our devious mortal ways,
Crowned with grief's bitter rue in place of bays,--
Ah! had we lived but then:
Twenty-Fifth Sunday After Trinity
© John Keble
The bright-haired morn is glowing
O'er emerald meadows gay,
Daybreak In The Desert
© Ernest Favenc
No cheerful note of bird in leafy bower,
No glistening water dancing in the light,
No dewdrop trembling on some modest flower,
No early cock to crow farewell to-night.
Allan Herbert
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
SCENE I.
[The hall of a country house in Westmoreland, surrounded with portraits of the M. . . . family. Allan Herbert, and Jocelyn, an old domestic, are seen standing before the likeness of a lady, young, and wonderfully fair.]
HERBERT.
Poem To Be Placed In A Bottle And Cast Out To Sea
© Barry Tebb
for Ken Kesey and his merry pranksters in a bus called Further...
Murmur Not
© Friedrich Rückert
Murmur not and say thou art in fetters holden,
Murmur not that thou earth's heavy yoke must bear.
Say not that a prison is this world so golden--
'Tis thy murmurs only set its harsh walls there.
