Death poems
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Laureate
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
DEATH met a little child who cried
For a bright star which earth denied,
And Death, so sympathetic, kissed it,
Saying: "With me
All bright things be!"--
And only the child's mother missed it.
Songs of the Winter Days
© George MacDonald
The sky has turned its heart away,
The earth its sorrow found;
The daisies turn from childhood's play,
And creep into the ground.
The Two Terrors
© Amy Levy
Which way she turn, my soul finds no relief,
My smitten soul may not be comforted;
Alternately she swings from grief to grief,
And, poised between them, sways from dread to dread.
For there she dreads because she knows; and here,
Because she knows not, only faints with fear.
The Promise of Sleep
© Amy Levy
Put the sweet thoughts from out thy mind,
The dreams from out thy breast;
No joy for thee--but thou shalt find
Thy rest
Alnwick Castle
© Fitz-Greene Halleck
From royal Berwick's beach of sand,
From Wooller, Morpeth, Hexham, and
Newcastle-upon-Tyne.
The First Extra
© Amy Levy
O sway, and swing, and sway,
And swing, and sway, and swing!
Ah me, what bliss like unto this,
Can days and daylight bring?
The End of the Day
© Amy Levy
To B. T.
Dead-tired, dog-tired, as the vivid day
Fails and slackens and fades away.--
The sky that was so blue before
Straw in the Street
© Amy Levy
Straw in the street where I pass to-day
Dulls the sound of the wheels and feet.
'Tis for a failing life they lay
Straw in the street.
Sinfonia Eroica
© Amy Levy
(To Sylvia.)
My Love, my Love, it was a day in June,
A mellow, drowsy, golden afternoon;
And all the eager people thronging came
Run to Death
© Amy Levy
A True Incident of Pre-Revolutionary French History.
Now the lovely autumn morning breathes its freshness in earth's face,
In the crowned castle courtyard the blithe horn proclaims the chase;
And the ladies on the terrace smile adieux with rosy lips
The Borough. Letter XXIII: Prisons
© George Crabbe
'TIS well--that Man to all the varying states
Of good and ill his mind accommodates;
On the Threshold
© Amy Levy
O God, my dream! I dreamed that you were dead;
Your mother hung above the couch and wept
Whereon you lay all white, and garlanded
With blooms of waxen whiteness. I had crept
Moreton Bay
© Anonymous
One Sunday morning, as I went walking,
By Brisbane waters I chanced to stray.
Last Words
© Amy Levy
These blossoms that I bring,
This song that here I sing,
These tears that now I shed,
I give unto the dead.
The Dead To Clemenceau:
© Robinson Jeffers
NOVEMBER, 1929
Come (we say) Clemenceau.
Why should you live longer than others? The vacuum that sucked
Us down, and the former stars, draws at you also.
Felo de Se
© Amy Levy
With Apologies to Mr. Swinburne.
For repose I have sighed and have struggled ; have sigh'd and have struggled in vain;
I am held in the Circle of Being and caught in the Circle of Pain.
I was wan and weary with life ; my sick soul yearned for death;
The Healer
© George MacDonald
They come to thee, the halt, the maimed, the blind,
The devil-torn, the sick, the sore;
Thy heart their well of life they find,
Thine ear their open door.
