Death poems

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Death of the Eagle

© Taylor Edward Robeson

Although beyond the eternal snows, aspiresThe vast-winged eagle still to loftier air,That nearer to the sun in blue more clearHe may renew his eyeball's splendid ires.

The Gardener 38

© Rabindranath Tagore

My love, once upon a time your poet launched a great epic in his mind

Femme Et Chatte

© Arthur Symons

They were at play, she and her cat,And it was marvelous to markThe white paw and the white hand patEach other in the deepening dark.

Art Poetique

© Arthur Symons

Music first and foremost of all!Choose your measure of odd not even,Let it melt in the air of heaven,Pose not, poise not, but rise and fall.

A Ballad of François Villon, Prince of All Ballad-Makers

Bird of the bitter bright grey golden morn Scarce risen upon the dusk of dolorous years,First of us all and sweetest singer born Whose far shrill note the world of new men hears Cleave the cold shuddering shade as twilight clears;When song new-born put off the old world's attireAnd felt its tune on her changed lips expire, Writ foremost on the roll of them that cameFresh girt for service of the latter lyre, Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name!

Alas the joy, the sorrow, and the scorn, That clothed thy life with hopes and sins and fears,And gave thee stones for bread and tares for corn And plume-plucked gaol-birds for thy starveling peers Till death clipt close their flight with shameful shears;Till shifts came short and loves were hard to hire,When lilt of song nor twitch of twangling wire Could buy thee bread or kisses; when light fameSpurned like a ball and haled through brake and briar, Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name!

Poor splendid wings so frayed and soiled and torn! Poor kind wild eyes so dashed with light quick tears!Poor perfect voice, most blithe when most forlorn, That rings athwart the sea whence no man steers Like joy-bells crossed with death-bells in our ears!What far delight has cooled the fierce desireThat like some ravenous bird was strong to tire On that frail flesh and soul consumed with flame,But left more sweet than roses to respire, Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name?

Prince of sweet songs made out of tears and fire,A harlot was thy nurse, a God thy sire; Shame soiled thy song, and song assoiled thy shame

Atalanta in Calydon: A Tragedy (complete text)

© Algernon Charles Swinburne

Tous zontas eu dran. katthanon de pas anerGe kai skia. to meden eis ouden repei

Atalanta in Calydon

© Algernon Charles Swinburne

When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or plainFills the shadows and windy places With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain;And the brown bright nightingale amorousIs half assuaged for Itylus,For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces, The tongueless vigil, and all the pain

Of the Death of Sir T. W. The Elder

© Henry Howard

Wyatt resteth here, that quick could never rest;Whose heavenly gifts increased by disdain,And virtue sank the deeper in his breast;Such profit he by envy could obtain.

Love that doth Reign and Live within my Thought

© Henry Howard

Love that doth reign and live within my thoughtAnd built his seat within my captive breast,Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought,Oft in my face he doth his banner rest

The Witness

© Sullivan Rosemary

I have to admit it's a strange feelingto blow your wife away,he said and kind of smiled

She walked into our lives like she invented us (4)

© Sullivan Rosemary

She walked into our lives like she invented us

Euclid Street

© Sullivan Rosemary

She stands on the porch, late

What's the Good?

Well, I've done my bit o' scrappin', And I've done in quite a lot;Nicked 'em neatly wiv my bayonet, So I needn't waste a shot

Missing -- Believed Killed: On reading a Mother's letter

'Twere heaven enough to fill my heart If only one would stay,Just one of all the million joys God gives to take away.

Mors Benefica

Give me to die unwitting of the day, And stricken in Life's brave heat, with senses clear: Not swathed and couched until the lines appearOf Death's wan mask upon this withering clay,But as that old man eloquent made way From Earth, a nation's conclave hushed anear; Or as the chief whose fates, that he may hearThe victory, one glorious moment stay