Death poems
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Spring In War Time
© Sara Teasdale
I feel the spring far off, far off,
The faint, far scent of bud and leaf --
Oh, how can spring take heart to come
To a world in grief,
Deep grief?
Homage To Quintus Septimus Florentis Christianus
© Ezra Pound
I
(Ex libris Graecæ)
Theodorus will be pleased at my death,
And .someone else will be pleased at the death of Theodoras,
And yet everyone speaks evil of death.
At Issue
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
THAT voice I hear,how heard I cannot tell,
Although my home is this, seems from my home:
New Spring (1831)
© Heinrich Heine
Soft, aloft, the bells do ring,
Gentlest thoughts they sing me.
Ring and sing, my song of spring,
Through the blue sky wing thee
The Conference
© Charles Churchill
Grace said in form, which sceptics must agree,
When they are told that grace was said by me;
Sleep
© Abraham Cowley
In vain, thou drowsy God! I thee invoke;
For thou, who dost from fumes arise
Hymn VIII: What Could Your Redeemer Do
© Charles Wesley
What could your Redeemer do
More than he hath done for you?
Sonnet IX: If This Be Love
© Samuel Daniel
If this be love, to draw a weary breath,
Paint on floods, till the shore, cry to th'air,
The Plea Of The Midsummer Fairies
© Thomas Hood
I
'Twas in that mellow season of the year
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves
Till they be gold,and with a broader sphere
The Choice of Valentines
© Thomas Nashe
Pardon sweete flower of matchless Poetrie,
And fairest bud the red rose euer bare ;
The Circles
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
Within yon world-wide cirque of war
What's hidden which they fight so for?
The Hospital Window
© James Dickey
I have just come down from my father.
Higher and higher he lies
Above me in a blue light
Shed by a tinted window.
I drop through six white floors
And then step out onto pavement.
Lament on the Death of Willie
© Julia A Moore
Willie had a purple monkey climbing on a yellow stick,
And when he sucked the paint all off it made him deathly sick;
And in his latest hours he clasped that monkey in his hand,
And bade good-bye to earth and went into a better land.
September in Australia
© Henry Kendall
Grey Winter hath gone, like a wearisome guest,
And, behold, for repayment,
The Seed-Shop
© Muriel Stuart
Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry -
Meadows and gardens running through my hand.
