Death poems
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Farewell To J. R. Lowell
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
FAREWELL, for the bark has her breast to the tide,
And the rough arms of Ocean are stretched for his bride;
The winds from the mountain stream over the bay;
One clasp of the hand, then away and away!
Then And Now
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
A little time agone, a few brief years,
And there was peace within our beauteous borders;
Peace, and a prosperous people, and no fears
Of war and its disorders.
Pleasure was ruling goddess of our land; with her attendant Mirth
She led a jubilant, joy-seeking band about the riant earth.
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XVII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
JOY'S TREACHERY
I had a live joy once and pampered her,
For I had brought her from the ``golden East,''
To lie when nights were cold upon my breast
In A Swedish Graveyard
© Emma Lazarus
After wearisome toil and much sorrow,
How quietly sleep they at last,
The Wild Rose And The Snowdrop
© George Meredith
The Snowdrop is the prophet of the flowers;
It lives and dies upon its bed of snows;
The Pariah - Legend
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
WATER-FETCHING goes the noble
Brahmin's wife, so pure and lovely;
The Death of Abraham Lincoln
© William Cullen Bryant
Oh, slow to smit and swift to spare,
Gentle and merciful and just!
Who, in the fear of God, didst bear
The sword of power, a nation's trust!
Welcome To Frost
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
O SPIRIT! at whose wafts of chilling breath
Autumn unbinds her zone, to rest in death;
Touched by whose blight the light of cordial days
Is lost in sombre browns and sullen grays;
I live with HimI see His face
© Emily Dickinson
I live with HimI see His face
I go no more away
For Visitoror Sundown
Death's single privacy
My Soul And I
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Stand still, my soul, in the silent dark
I would question thee,
Alone in the shadow drear and stark
With God and me!
On The Progress Of The Soul...
© John Donne
Forget this rotten world, and unto thee
Let thine own times as an old story be.
Hudibras: Part 1 - Canto I
© Samuel Butler
His doublet was of sturdy buff,
And tho' not sword, yet cudgel-proof;
Whereby 'twas fitter for his use,
Who fear'd no blows, but such as bruise.
"Flowers Of France" Decoration Poem For Soldiers' Graves, Tours, France, May 30, 1918
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Flowers of France in the Spring,
Your growth is a beautiful thing;
To James Russell Lowell
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Here let us keep him, here he saw the light,--
His genius, wisdom, wit, are ours by right;
And if we lose him our lament will be
We have "five hundred"--_not_ "as good as he."
Embroidery
© Margaret Widdemer
SHE sits and makes pink roses with her thread
And wonders what to do, her heart astir,
Lines On The Death Of Bismarck
© John Jay Chapman
Thought cannot grasp the Cause: 'tis in the abyss
With Nature's secrets. But, gigantic wreck,
Thou wast the Instrument! And thy huge limbs
Cover nine kingdoms as thou lie'st asleep.
Wives By The Dozen
© Matthew Prior
O Death how thou spoil'st the best project of life,
Said Gabriel, who still as he bury'd one wife,
