Famous Short Death Of A Friend Poems
Famous Short Death Of A Friend Poems. Short Death Of A Friend Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Death Of A Friend short poems
by
Carl Sandburg
Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.
Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.
by
G K Chesterton
Chattering finch and water-fly
Are not merrier than I;
Here among the flowers I lie
Laughing everlastingly.
No; I may not tell the best;
Surely, friends, I might have guessed
Death was but the good King's jest,
It was hid so carefully.
by
John Donne
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
by
William Butler Yeats
Others because you did not keep
That deep-sworn vow have been friends of mine;
Yet always when I look death in the face,
When I clamber to the heights of sleep,
Or when I grow excited with wine,
Suddenly I meet your face.
by
Vasko Popa
Until her last breath she enlarges
Her Oxford house
Built in Slavonic
Vowels and consonants
She polishes the corner-stones
Until their Anglo-Saxon shine
Begins to sing
Her death is like a short breath-stop
Under the distant limetrees of her friends
by
Aleksandr Blok
Don't fear death in earthly travels.
Don't fear enemies or friends.
Just listen to the words of prayers,
To pass the facets of the dreads.
Your death will come to you, and never
You shall be, else, a slave of life,
Just waiting for a dawn's favor,
From nights of poverty and strife.
She'll build with you a common law,
One will of the Eternal Reign.
And you are not condemned to slow
And everlasting deadly pain.
by
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
How cold are thy baths, Apollo!
Cried the African monarch, the splendid,
As down to his death in the hollow
Dark dungeons of Rome he descended,
Uncrowned, unthroned, unattended;
How cold are thy baths, Apollo!
How cold are thy baths, Apollo!
Cried the Poet, unknown, unbefriended,
As the vision, that lured him to follow,
With the mist and the darkness blended,
And the dream of his life was ended;
How cold are thy baths, Apollo!
by
Emily Dickinson
Bereavement in their death to feel
Whom We have never seen --
A Vital Kinsmanship import
Our Soul and theirs -- between --
For Stranger -- Strangers do not mourn --
There be Immortal friends
Whom Death see first -- 'tis news of this
That paralyze Ourselves --
Who, vital only to Our Thought --
Such Presence bear away
In dying -- 'tis as if Our Souls
Absconded -- suddenly --
by
Friedrich von Schiller
Lovely he looks, 'tis true, with the light of his torch now extinguished;
But remember that death is not aesthetic, my friends!
by
Omar Khayyam
O Friends! meet together [after my death]. Once reunited,
rejoice in being together and, when the cupbearer
takes in his hand a cup of old wine, remember poor
Khayyam and drink to his memory.
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by
Emily Dickinson
Death is potential to that Man
Who dies -- and to his friend --
Beyond that -- unconspicuous
To Anyone but God --
Of these Two -- God remembers
The longest -- for the friend --
Is integral -- and therefore
Itself dissolved -- of God --
by
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Birth and death, twin-sister and twin-brother,
Night and day, on all things that draw breath,
Reign, while time keeps friends with one another
Birth and death.
Each brow-bound with flowers diverse of wreath,
Heaven they hail as father, earth as mother,
Faithful found above them and beneath.
Smiles may lighten tears, and tears may smother
Smiles, for all that joy or sorrow saith:
Joy nor sorrow knows not from each other
Birth and death.
by
Emily Dickinson
Love -- is that later Thing than Death --
More previous -- than Life --
Confirms it at its entrance -- And
Usurps it -- of itself --
Tastes Death -- the first -- to hand the sting
The Second -- to its friend --
Disarms the little interval --
Deposits Him with God --
Then hovers -- an inferior Guard --
Lest this Beloved Charge
Need -- once in an Eternity --
A smaller than the Large --
by
Robert Burns
AS Tam the chapman on a day,
Wi’Death forgather’d by the way,
Weel pleas’d, he greets a wight so famous,
And Death was nae less pleas’d wi’ Thomas,
Wha cheerfully lays down his pack,
And there blaws up a hearty crack:
His social, friendly, honest heart
Sae tickled Death, they could na part;
Sae, after viewing knives and garters,
Death taks him hame to gie him quarters.
by
Omar Khayyam
The flowers are in blossom, O cupbearer! bring wine.
Leave thy acts of worship, O cupbearer! Ere the angel
of death put a watch upon us, come, and with a cup of
ruby wine in hand, let us rejoice while yet there are
some days with the sweet presence of the friend [the
Divinity].
by
Emily Dickinson
I read my sentence -- steadily --
Reviewed it with my eyes,
To see that I made no mistake
In its extremest clause --
The Date, and manner, of the shame --
And then the Pious Form
That "God have mercy" on the Soul
The Jury voted Him --
I made my soul familiar -- with her extremity --
That at the last, it should not be a novel Agony --
But she, and Death, acquainted --
Meet tranquilly, as friends --
Salute, and pass, without a Hint --
And there, the Matter ends --
by
Omar Khayyam
O burden not thyself with drudgery,
Lord of white silver and red gold to be;
But feast with friends, ere this warm breath of thine
Be chilled in death, and earthworms feast on thee.
by
Omar Khayyam
One night I saw in thought a sage who said to me:
Sleep, O my friend, has never caused the rose of happiness
to bloom for anyone; why lend yourself to aught so
similar to death? Rather drink wine, for you will sleep
enough when buried in the earth.
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by
Omar Khayyam
This Wheel of Heaven runs after my death and thine,
my friend· it conspires against my soul and thine.
Come, seat thyself upon the turf, for, indeed, small time
remains to us before new turf shall germinate from my
dust and from thine.
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