Death poems
/ page 81 of 560 /
Alfred. Book III.
© Henry James Pye
Fix'd on the arid spot, whose scanty bounds
On every side the deep morass surrounds,
The monarch, and his martial friend, with care,
'Gainst close surprise and bold attack prepare;
Exert each art their safety to ensure,
And every pass, with wary eye, secure.
Fish Food
© John Brooks Wheelwright
you drank deep as Thor, did you think of milk or wine?
Did you drink blood, while you drank the salt deep?
The Passing Of A Heart
© James Whitcomb Riley
O touch me with your hands--
For pity's sake!
My brow throbs ever on with such an ache
As only your cool touch may take away;
And so, I pray
You, touch me with your hands!
To The Young
© John Hay
Letyour feet not falter, your course not alter
By golden apples, till victory's won!
The sword's sharp clangor, the dart's shrill anger,
Swerve not the hero thundering on.
The Lepers Betrothed
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
To clasp his spirit undefiled, my spirit leaped beneath my hand,
He said no sad reproach to me, but only, "Love, I understand."
O coward my eyes that would not see, held slaves 'neath closing finger-tips;
O coward my flesh that would not let my spirit's whisper through your lips.
Sancho Sanchez
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Sancho Sanchez lay a--dying in the house of Mariquita,
For his life ebbed with the ebbing of the red wound in his side.
And he lay there as they left him when he came from the Corrida
In his gold embroidered jacket and his red cloak and his pride.
The Beautiful Blue Danube
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
They drift down the hall together;
He smiles in her lifted eyes;
Like waves of that mighty river,
The strains of the "Danube" rise.
The Faithful Few: An Ode
© William Hamilton
While Pow'r triumphant bears unrival'd Sway,
Propt by the Aid of all-prevailing Gold;
While bold Corruption blasts the Face of Day,
And Men, in Herds, are offer'd to be sold;
Select, Urania, from the venal Throng,
The Faithful Few, to grace the deathless Song!
Life And Death
© Sri Aurobindo
Life, death, - death, life; the words have led for ages
Our thought and consciousness and firmly seemed
Two opposites; but now long-hidden pages
Are opened, liberating truths undreamed.
Life only is, or death is life disguised, -
Life a short death until by Life we are surprised.
The Writer's Dream
© Henry Lawson
And the last that were born of a noble racewhen the page of the South was fair
The last of the conquered dwelt in peace with the last of the victors there.
He saw their hearts with the authors eyes who had written their ancient lore,
And he saw their lives as hed dreamed of suchah! many a year before.
And Ill write a book of these simple folk ere I to the world return,
And the cold who read shall be kind for theseand the wise who read shall learn.
As I Watche'd The Ploughman Ploughing
© Walt Whitman
AS I watch'd the ploughman ploughing,
Or the sower sowing in the fields-or the harvester harvesting,
I saw there too, O life and death, your analogies:
(Life, life is the tillage, and Death is the harvest according.)
Sonnet XXXVII: The Love-Moon
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
"When that dead face, bowered in the furthest years,
Which once was all the life years held for thee,
Americanisation
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Britannia needs no Boulevards,
No spaces wide and gay:
Her march was through the crooked streets
Along the narrow way.
Nor looks she where, New York's seduction,
The Broadway leadeth to destruction.
A Fable For Critics
© James Russell Lowell
'Why, nothing of consequence, save this attack
On my friend there, behind, by some pitiful hack,
Who thinks every national author a poor one,
That isn't a copy of something that's foreign,
And assaults the American Dick--'
The Earth-Mother
© Frank Dalby Davison
COMETH a voice:My children, hear;
From the crowded street and the close-packed mart
Letter From The Town Mouse To The Country Mouse
© Horace Smith
I.
Oh for a field, my friend; oh for a field!
The Spirit's Mysteries
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
And slight, withal, may be the things which bring
Back on the heart the weight which it would fling
Aside for ever;âit may be a soundâ
A tone of musicâsummer's breath, or springâ
A flowerâa leafâthe oceanâwhich may woundâ
Striking th' electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound. ~Childe Harold.
