Death poems
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A Lovers' Quarrel
© Robert Browning
I.Oh, what a dawn of day!
How the March sun feels like May!
All is blue again
After last night's rain,
The Italian In England
© Robert Browning
That second time they hunted me
From hill to plain, from shore to sea,
And Austria, hounding far and wide
Her blood-hounds through the countryside,
Epilogue To Asolando
© Robert Browning
One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,
Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,
Sleep to wake.
Up At A Villa Down In The City
© Robert Browning
Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to spare,
The house for me, no doubt, were a house in the city-square;
Ah, such a life, such a life, as one leads at the window there!
Rabbi Ben Ezra
© Robert Browning
Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
Who saith 'A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!'
A Toccata Of Galuppi's
© Robert Browning
Oh Galuppi, Baldassaro, this is very sad to find!
I can hardly misconceive you; it would prove me deaf and blind;
But although I give you credit, 'tis with such a heavy mind!
You'll love me yet!and I can tarry
© Robert Browning
You'll love me yet!and I can tarry
Your love's protracted growing:
June reared that bunch of flowers you carry
From seeds of April's sowing.
The Bishop Orders His Tomb At Saint Praxed's Church
© Robert Browning
Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity!
Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back?
Nephews -- sons mine -- ah God, I know not! Well --
She, men would have to be your mother once,
Prospice
© Robert Browning
Fear death?to feel the fog in my throat,
The mist in my face,
When the snows begin, and the blasts denote
I am nearing the place,
Any Wife To Any Husband
© Robert Browning
My love, this is the bitterest, that thou
Who art all truth and who dost love me now
As thine eyes say, as thy voice breaks to say
Shouldst love so truly and couldst love me still
A whole long life through, had but love its will,
Would death that leads me from thee brook delay!
The Laboratory
© Robert Browning
Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly,
May gaze through these faint smokes curling whitely,
As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's-smithy
Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?
What shall I your true love tell?
© Francis Thompson
What shall I your true love tell,
Earth forsaking maid?
What shall I your true love tell
When life's spectre's laid?
The Hound of Heaven
© Francis Thompson
I fled Him down the nights and down the days
I fled Him down the arches of the years
I fled Him down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind, and in the midst of tears
Before Her Portrait In Youth
© Francis Thompson
As lovers, banished from their lady's face
And hopeless of her grace,
Fashion a ghostly sweetness in its place,
Fondly adore
Elegy For Jane Kenyon
© Jean Valentine
Jane is big
with death, Don
sad and kind - Jane
though she's dying
is full of mind
In My Own Shire, If I Was Sad
© Alfred Edward Housman
In my own shire, if I was sad,
Homely comforters I had:
The earth, because my heart was sore,
Sorrowed for the son she bore;
The Welsh Marches
© Alfred Edward Housman
High the vanes of Shrewsbury gleam
Islanded in Severn stream;
The bridges from the steepled crest
Cross the water east and west.
When the Lad for Longing Sighs
© Alfred Edward Housman
When the lad for longing sighs,
Mute and dull of cheer and pale,
If at death's own door he lies,
Maiden, you can heal his ail.
Fragment of a Greek Tragedy
© Alfred Edward Housman
CHORUS: O suitably-attired-in-leather-boots
Head of a traveller, wherefore seeking whom
Whence by what way how purposed art thou come
To this well-nightingaled vicinity?
Wake Not for the World-Heard Thunder
© Alfred Edward Housman
Wake not for the world-heard thunder,
Nor the chimes that earthquakes toll;
Stars may plot in heaven with planet,
Lightning rive the rock of granite,
