Death poems
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The Bell-Founder Part II - Triumph And Reward
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
In the furnace the dry branches crackle, the crucible shines as with
gold,
As they carry the hot flaming metal in haste from the fire to the mould;
Loud roars the bellows, and louder the flames as they shrieking escape,
Unfinished History
© Archibald MacLeish
WE HAVE loved each other in this time twenty years
And with such love as few men have in them even for
The Land Of The Living
© Nicolaj Frederik Severin Grundtvig
I know of a land
Where hair does not grey, and where times rule is banned,
Where sun does not burn, and where wave does not ring,
Where autumn embraces the blossoming spring,
Where morning and evening unceasingly dance
In noons brightest glance.
The Merchant Of Venice: A Legend Of Italy
© Richard Harris Barham
With a pack,
Like a sack
Of old clothes at his back,
And three hats on his head, Shylock came in a crack,
Saying, 'Rest you fair, Signior Antonio!- vat, pray,
Might your vorship be pleashed for to vant in ma vay!'
Sonnet Cycle For Lady Magdalen
© John Donne
Her of your name, whose fair inheritance
Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo:
From The Portuguese, 'Tu Mi Chamas'
© George Gordon Byron
In moments to delight devoted,
'My life!' with tenderest tone you cry;
Dear words! on which my heart had doted,
If youth could neither fade nor die.
Moonlight Reveries
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
The moon from solemn azure sky
Looked down on earth below,
The Conversion Of St. Paul
© John Keble
The mid-day sun, with fiercest glare,
Broods o'er the hazy twinkling air:
Along the level sand
The palm-tree's shade unwavering lies,
Just as thy towers, Damascus, rise
To greet you wearied band.
The Folk-Mote By The River
© William Morris
And now we saw the banners borne
On the first of the way that we had shorn;
So we laid the scythe upon the sward
And girt us to the battle-sword.
To the Memory of my dear and ever honoured Father Thomas Dudley Esq; Who deceased, July 31. 1653. an
© Anne Bradstreet
By duty bound, and not by custome led
To celebrate the praises of the dead,
Au Lecteur (To The Reader)
© Charles Baudelaire
La sottise, l'erreur, le péché, la lésine,
Occupent nos esprits et travaillent nos corps,
Et nous alimentons nos aimables remords,
Comme les mendiants nourrissent leur vermine.
The Judgment Of Paris
© James Beattie
Far in the depth of Ida's inmost grove,
A scene for love and solitude design'd;
Where flowery woodbines wild, by Nature wove,
Form'd the lone bower, the royal swain reclined.
Sonnet 66: "Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry..."
© William Shakespeare
Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
The White Comrade
© Robert Haven Schauffler
Under our curtain of fire,
Over the clotted clods,
We charged, to be withered, to reel
And despairingly wheel
When the bugles bade us retire
From the terrible odds.
Words From The Wind
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
I called to the wind of the Winter,
As he sped like a steed on his way,
"Oh! rest for awhile on thy journey,
And answer these questions, I pray.
Sonnet XXXVI: Life-In-Love
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Not in thy body is thy life at all,
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
The Black Knight
© Madison Julius Cawein
I had not found the road too short,
As once I had in days of youth,
