Death poems
/ page 75 of 560 /
On Mrs. Little, In Redcliff Church, Bristol.
© Hannah More
O could this verse her fair example spread,
And teach the living while it prais'd the dead!
The Fovrth Booke Of Qvodlibets
© Robert Hayman
Sermons and Epigrams haue a like end,
To improue, to reproue, and to amend:
Some passe without this vse, 'cause they are witty;
And so doe many Sermons, more's the pitty.
The Visions Of Petrarch
© Edmund Spenser
Being one day at my window all alone,
So manie strange things happened me to see,
Dance Of Death
© Franz Werfel
Death has taken me out for a swing.
At first I didn't drop from the quickstep
In his dance and clogged right along
Until he drove the tempo up.
Olney Hymn 31: On The Death Of A Minister
© William Cowper
His master taken from his head,
Elisha saw him go;
And in desponding accents said,
"Ah, what must Israel do?"
A Ballad Of Marjorie
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
"What ails you that you look so pale,
O fisher of the sea?"
The Roman Rose-Seller
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
Not from Paestum come my roses; Patrons, see
My flowers are Roman-blown; their nectaries
Death of Ben Hall
© Anonymous
Come all Australia's sons to me -
A hero has been slain
And cowardly butchered in his sleep
Upon the Lachlan Plain.
Dead Love
© Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal
Oh never weep for love thats dead
Since love is seldom true
But changes his fashion from blue to red,
From brightest red to blue,
And love was born to an early death
And is so seldom true.
Ascension
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
I have been down in the darkest water-
Deep, deep down where no light could pierce;
King Arthur's Death
© Thomas Percy
On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne,
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee,
Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye!
Alacke, it was the more pittìe.
Interlude: Songs Out Of Sorrow
© Sara Teasdale
This is the spot where I will lie
When life has had enough of me,
These are the grasses that will blow
Above me like a living sea.
Adair Welcker, Poet
© Ambrose Bierce
The Swan of Avon died-the Swan
Of Sacramento'll soon be gone;
And when his death-song he shall coo,
Stand back, or it will kill you too.
Nineteenth Sunday After Trinity
© John Keble
When Persecution's torrent blaze
Wraps the unshrinking Martyr's head;
When fade all earthly flowers and bays,
When summer friends are gone and fled,
Is he alone in that dark hour
Who owns the Lord of love and power?
All White Continued
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Ah, beautiful sweet woman, made in vain,
Since Launcelot is dead and only I,
Alas for this new world of recreant men,
Remain in age Love's creed to justify
Harry (Engaged To Be Married) To Charley (Who Is Not)
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
To all my fond rhapsodies, Charley,
You have wearily listened, I fear;
"To cure wounds is so rigid"
© Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
To cure wounds is so rigid:
They drank the air and poisoned bread.
Young Joseph who was sold to Egypt
Could not be more deathly sad!
Poetry
© George Meredith
Grey with all honours of age! but fresh-featured and ruddy
As dawn when the drowsy farm-yard has thrice heard Chaunticlere.
Tender to tearfulness-childlike, and manly, and motherly;
Here beats true English blood richest joyance on sweet English ground.
The Cloud-Star
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
FAR up within the tranquil sky,
Far up it shone;
Floating, how gently, silently,
Floating alone!
