Death poems

 / page 88 of 560 /
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Last Things

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

THERE is no one to do it for me,
  But I know what I shall do
When the last dawn breaks o'er me
  And the last night is through.

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Nurse Green

© Charles Lamb

"Your prayers you have said, and you've wished good night:
 What cause is there yet keeps my darling awake?
This throb in your bosom proclaims some affright
 Disturbs your composure. Can innocence quake?

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Kitchen Poem

© Francis Scarfe


In the hungry kitchen
The dog sings for its dinner.
The housewife is writing her poem
On top of the frigidaire
Something like this:

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A Lost Chance.

© James Brunton Stephens

[IT is stated that a shepherd, who had for many years grazed his flocks

in a district in which a rich tin-mining town in Queensland now stands,

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The Joys We Miss

© Edgar Albert Guest


There never comes a lonely day but that we miss the laughing ways
Of those who used to walk with us through all our happy yesterdays.
We seldom miss the earthly great-the famous men that life has known-
But, as the years go racing by, we miss the friends we used to own.

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Madona Mia

© Algernon Charles Swinburne

UNDER green apple-boughs

That never a storm will rouse,

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On The Death Of Prince Meshchersky

© Gavrila Romanovich Derzhavin

O, Voice of time! O, metal's clang!

Your dreadful call distresses me,

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Maha-Bharata, The Epic Of Ancient India - Book V - Pativrata-Mahatmya - (Woman's Love)

© Romesh Chunder Dutt

The great _rishi_ Vyasa came to visit Yudhishthir, and advised Arjun,
great archer as he was, to acquire celestial arms by penance and
worship. Arjun followed the advice, met the god SIVA in the guise
of a hunter, pleased him by his prowess in combat, and obtained his
blessings and the _pasupata_ weapon. Arjun then went to INDRA'S
heaven and obtained other celestial arms.

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The Moon

© James Russell Lowell

So was my soul; but when 'twas full
  Of unrest to o'erloading,
A voice of something beautiful
  Whispered a dim foreboding,
And yet so soft, so sweet, so low,
It had not more of joy than woe;

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The Revenge Of Rain-In-The-Face. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth)

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In that desolate land and lone,
Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone
  Roar down their mountain path,
By their fires the Sioux Chiefs
Muttered their woes and griefs
  And the menace of their wrath.

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The Loving Shepherdess

© Robinson Jeffers

  She dreamed that a two-legged whiff of flame
Rose up from the house gable-peak crying, "Oh! Oh!"
And doubled in the middle and fled away on the wind
Like music above the bee-hives.

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The Poet's Dead

© Mikhail Lermontov

He's slain - and taken by the grave
Like that unknown, but happy bard,
Victim of jealousy wild,
Of whom he sang with wondrous power,
Struck down, like him, by an unyielding hand.

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An American Tale

© Helen Maria Williams

"Ah! pity all the pangs I feel,
 If pity e'er ye knew;-
An aged father's wounds to heal,
 Through scenes of death I flew.

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Hyperion. Book I

© John Keats

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale

Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,

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Songs Written to Welsh Airs

© Amelia Opie

How fondly I gaze on the fast falling-leaves,
That mark, as I wander, the summer's decline;
And then I exclaim, while my conscious heart heaves,
"Thus early to droop and to perish be mine!"

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The End Of The Century

© Madison Julius Cawein

There are moments when, as missions,
  God reveals to us strange visions;
  When, within their separate stations,
  We may see the Centuries,
  Like revolving constellations
  Shaping out Earth's destinies.

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A Hymn for Noon

© Thomas Parnell

The sun is swiftly mounted high;

It glitters in the southern sky;

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The Haunted Chamber. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Third)

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Each heart has its haunted chamber,
Where the silent moonlight falls!
On the floor are mysterious footsteps,
There are whispers along the walls!

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It's a Boy

© Edgar Albert Guest

The doctor leads a busy life, he wages war with death;
Long hours he spends to help the one who's fighting hard for breath;
He cannot call his time his own, nor share in others' fun,
His duties claim him through the night when others' work is done.
And yet the doctor seems to be God's messenger of joy,
Appointed to announce this news of gladness: "It's a boy!"

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Cock-Crowing

© Henry Vaughan

Father of lights! what sunny seed,
What glance of day hast Thou confined
Into this bird? To all the breed
This busy ray Thou hast assigned;
Their magnetism works all night,
And dreams of paradise and light.