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Best Famous Brother Death Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Brother Death poems. This is a select list of the best famous Brother Death poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Brother Death poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of brother death poems.

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Written by Allen Ginsberg | Create an image from this poem

Father Death Blues (Dont Grow Old Part V)

 Hey Father Death, I'm flying home
Hey poor man, you're all alone
Hey old daddy, I know where I'm going

Father Death, Don't cry any more
Mama's there, underneath the floor
Brother Death, please mind the store

Old Aunty Death Don't hide your bones
Old Uncle Death I hear your groans
O Sister Death how sweet your moans

O Children Deaths go breathe your breaths
Sobbing breasts'll ease your Deaths
Pain is gone, tears take the rest

Genius Death your art is done
Lover Death your body's gone
Father Death I'm coming home

Guru Death your words are true
Teacher Death I do thank you
For inspiring me to sing this Blues

Buddha Death, I wake with you
Dharma Death, your mind is new
Sangha Death, we'll work it through

Suffering is what was born
Ignorance made me forlorn
Tearful truths I cannot scorn

Father Breath once more farewell
Birth you gave was no thing ill
My heart is still, as time will tell.

July 8, 1976 (Over Lake Michigan)


Written by Katharine Tynan | Create an image from this poem

Of St. Francis and the Ass

 Our father, ere he went 
Out with his brother, Death, 
Smiling and well-content 
As a bridegroom goeth, 
Sweetly forgiveness prayed 
From man or beast whom he 
Had ever injured
Or burdened needlessly. 

'Verily,' then said he,
'I crave before I pass 
Forgiveness full and free
Of my little brother, the ass.
Many a time and oft, 
When winds and ways were hot, 
He hath borne me cool and soft 
And service grudged me not. 

'And once did it betide 
There was, unseen of me,
A gall upon his side 
That suffered grievously. 
And once his manger was 
Empty and bare, and brown. 
(Praise God for sweet, dry grass 
That Bethlehem folk shook down! ) 

'Consider, brethren,' said he, 
'Our little brother; how mild, 
How patient, he will be, 
Though men are fierce and wild. 
His coat is gray and fine, 
His eyes are kind with love; 
This little brother of mine 
Is gentle as the dove. 

'Consider how such an one 
Beheld our Saviour born, 
And carried him, full-grown, 
Through Eastern streets one morn.
For this the Cross is laid 
Upon him for a sign. 
Greatly is honourèd 
This little brother of mine.' 

And even while he spake, 
Down in his stable stall 
His little ass 'gan shake 
And turned its face to the wall. 
Down fell the heavy tear; 
Its gaze so mournful was, 
Fra Leo, standing near, 
Pitied the little ass. 

That night our father died, 
All night the kine did low: 
The ass went heavy-eyed, 
With patient tears and slow. 
The very birds on wings 
Made mournful cries in the air. 
Amen! all living things 
Our father's brethern were.
Written by Percy Bysshe Shelley | Create an image from this poem

To the Night

SWIFTLY walk over the western wave  
Spirit of Night! 
Out of the misty eastern cave 
Where all the long and lone daylight  
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear 5 
Which make thee terrible and dear ¡ª 
Swift be thy flight! 

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray  
Star-inwrought; 
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day 10 
Kiss her until she be wearied out: 
Then wander o'er city and sea and land  
Touching all with thine opiate wand¡ª 
Come long-sought! 

When I arose and saw the dawn 15 
I sigh'd for thee; 
When light rode high and the dew was gone  
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree  
And the weary Day turn'd to his rest 
Lingering like an unloved guest 20 
I sigh'd for thee. 

Thy brother Death came and cried  
Wouldst thou me?  
Thy sweet child Sleep the filmy-eyed  
Murmur'd like a noontide bee 25 
Shall I nestle near thy side? 
Wouldst thou me? ¡ªAnd I replied  
No, not thee!  

Death will come when thou art dead  
Soon too soon; 30 
Sleep will come when thou art fled: 
Of neither would I ask the boon 
I ask of thee belov¨¨d Night¡ª 
Swift be thine approaching flight  
Come soon soon! 35 
Written by Friedrich von Schiller | Create an image from this poem

Fantasie -- To Laura

 Name, my Laura, name the whirl-compelling
Bodies to unite in one blest whole--
Name, my Laura, name the wondrous magic
By which soul rejoins its kindred soul!

See! it teaches yonder roving planets
Round the sun to fly in endless race;
And as children play around their mother,
Checkered circles round the orb to trace.

Every rolling star, by thirst tormented,
Drinks with joy its bright and golden rain--
Drinks refreshment from its fiery chalice,
As the limbs are nourished by the brain.

'Tis through Love that atom pairs with atom,
In a harmony eternal, sure;
And 'tis Love that links the spheres together--
Through her only, systems can endure.

Were she but effaced from Nature's clockwork,
Into dust would fly the mighty world;
O'er thy systems thou wouldst weep, great Newton,
When with giant force to chaos hurled!

Blot the goddess from the spirit order,
It would sink in death, and ne'er arise.
Were love absent, spring would glad us never;
Were love absent, none their God would prize!

What is that, which, when my Laura kisses,
Dyes my cheek with flames of purple hue,
Bids my bosom bound with swifter motion,
Like a fever wild my veins runs through?

Every nerve from out its barriers rises,
O'er its banks, the blood begins to flow;
Body seeks to join itself to body,
Spirits kindle in one blissful glow.

Powerful as in the dead creations
That eternal impulses obey,
O'er the web Arachne-like of Nature,--
Living Nature,--Love exerts her sway.

Laura, see how joyousness embraces
E'en the overflow of sorrows wild!
How e'en rigid desperation kindles
On the loving breast of Hope so mild.

Sisterly and blissful rapture softens
Gloomy Melancholy's fearful night,
And, deliver'd of its golden children,
Lo, the eye pours forth its radiance bright!

Does not awful Sympathy rule over
E'en the realms that Evil calls its own?
For 'tis Hell our crimes are ever wooing,
While they bear a grudge 'gainst Heaven alone!

Shame, Repentance, pair Eumenides-like,
Weave round sin their fearful serpent-coils:
While around the eagle-wings of Greatness
Treach'rous danger winds its dreaded toils.

Ruin oft with Pride is wont to trifle,
Envy upon Fortune loves to cling;
On her brother, Death, with arms extended,
Lust, his sister, oft is wont to spring.

On the wings of Love the future hastens
In the arms of ages past to lie;
And Saturnus, as he onward speeds him,
Long hath sought his bride--Eternity!

Soon Saturnus will his bride discover,--
So the mighty oracle hath said;
Blazing worlds will turn to marriage torches
When Eternity with Time shall wed!

Then a fairer, far more beauteous morning,
Laura, on our love shall also shine,
Long as their blest bridal-night enduring:--
So rejoice thee, Laura--Laura mine!
Written by Katharine Tynan | Create an image from this poem

St. Francis and the Birds

 Little sisters, the birds: 
We must praise God, you and I­ 
You, with songs that fill the sky, 
I, with halting words. 

All things tell His praise,
Woods and waters thereof sing, 
Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring, 
And the night and days. 

Yea, and cold and heat,
And the sun and stars and moon,
Sea with her monotonous tune,
Rain and hail and sleet, 

And the winds of heaven,
And the solemn hills of blue,
And the brown earth and the dew,
And the thunder even, 

And the flowers' sweet breath. 
All things make one glorious voice;
Life with fleeting pains and joys,
And our brother, Death. 

Little flowers of air, 
With your feathers soft and sleek, 
And your bright brown eyes and meek, 
He hath made you fair. 

He hath taught to you 
Skill to weave in tree and thatch 
Nests where happy mothers hatch 
Speckled eggs of blue. 

And hath children given: 
When the soft heads overbrim 
The brown nests, then thank ye Him 
In the clouds of heaven. 

Also in your lives 
Live His laws Who loveth you. 
Husbands, be ye kind and true; 
Be home-keeping, wives: 

Love not gossiping; 
Stay at home and keep the nest; 
Fly not here and there in quest 
Of the newest thing. 

Live as brethren live: 
Love be in each heart and mouth; 
Be not envious, be not wroth, 
Be not slow to give. 

When ye build the nest, 
Quarrel not o'er straw or wool; 
He who hath be bountiful 
To the neediest. 

Be not puffed nor vain 
Of your beauty or your worth, 
Of your children or your birth, 
Or the praise ye gain. 

Eat not greedily: 
Sometimes for sweet mercy's sake, 
Worm or insect spare to take; 
Let it crawl or fly. 

See ye sing not near 
To our church on holy day, 
Lest the human-folk should stray 
From their prayers to hear. 

Now depart in peace: 
In God's name I bless each one;
May your days be long i' the sun 
And your joys increase. 

And remember me, 
Your poor brother Francis, who 
Loves you and gives thanks to you 
For this courtesy. 

Sometimes when ye sing, 
Name my name, that He may take 
Pity for the dear song's sake 
On my shortcoming.


Written by Percy Bysshe Shelley | Create an image from this poem

To Night

 Swiftly walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear, -- 
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle grey,
Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day,
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand -- 
Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sighed for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sighed for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried
`Wouldst thou me?'
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee
`Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?' -- And I replied
`No, not thee!'

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon -- 
Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night -- 
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry