Death poems
/ page 55 of 560 /
The Night Quatrains
© Charles Cotton
THE Sun is set, and gone to sleep
With the fair princess of the deep,
After The Rain
© Madison Julius Cawein
Behold the blossom-bosomed Day again,
With all the star-white Hours in her train,
For E. McC
© Ezra Pound
Gone as a gust of breath
Faith! no man tarrieth,
Se il cor ti manca, but it failed thee not!
'Non ti fidar, it is the sword that speaks
In me.
A Triptych
© Arthur Symons
II. ISOTTA TO THE ROSE: RIMINI
The little country girl who plucks a rose
Goes barefoot through the sunlight to the sea,
And singing of Isotta as she goes.
The Drunken Father
© Robert Bloomfield
Poor Ellen married Andrew Hall,
Who dwells beside the moor,
Where yonder rose-tree shades the wall,
And woodbines grace the door.
William Bede Dalley
© Henry Kendall
The clear, bright atmosphere through which he looks
Is one by no dim, close horizon bound;
The power shed as flame from noble books
Hath made for him a larger world around.
To Ellen Terry
© Alfred Austin
Nay, bring forth none but daughters: daughters young,
The doubles of yourself; with face as fair,
Book Seventh [Residence in London]
© William Wordsworth
Returned from that excursion, soon I bade
Farewell for ever to the sheltered seats
Of gowned students, quitted hall and bower,
And every comfort of that privileged ground,
Well pleased to pitch a vagrant tent among
The unfenced regions of society.
Molly Maguire at Monmouth
© William Taylor Collins
On the bloody field of Monmouth
Flashed the guns of Greene and Wayne.
Indian Woman's Death-Song
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Non, je ne puis vivre avec un coeur brisé® Il faut que je retrouve la joie, et que je m'unisse aux esprits libres de l'air.
Bride of Messina,
Madame De Stael
Let not my child be a girl, for very sad is the life of a woman.
The Prairie.
Metamorphoses: Book The Third
© Ovid
The End of the Third Book.
Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands
Ilicet
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
THERE is an end of joy and sorrow;
Peace all day long, all night, all morrow,
But never a time to laugh or weep.
The end is come of pleasant places,
The end of tender words and faces,
The end of all, the poppied sleep.
The Poets
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
When this young Land has reached its wrinkled prime,
And we are gone and all our songs are done,
"This dainty instrument, this tabletoy"
© Richard Monckton Milnes
This dainty instrument, this table--toy,
Might seem best fitted for the use and joy
Of some high Ladie in old gallant times,
Or gay--learned weaver of Provencal rhymes:
The Bereaved
© Robert Laurence Binyon
We grudged not those that were dearer than all we possessed,
Lovers, brothers, sons.
Our hearts were full, and out of a full heart
We gave our belovèd ones.
God Rules Alway
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Into the world's most high and holy places
Men carry selfishness, and graft and greed.
