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Best Famous Die Away Poems

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Written by William Cowper | Create an image from this poem

The Castaway

 Obscurest night involv'd the sky,
Th' Atlantic billows roar'd,
When such a destin'd wretch as I,
Wash'd headlong from on board,
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,
His floating home for ever left.

No braver chief could Albion boast
Than he with whom he went,
Nor ever ship left Albion's coast,
With warmer wishes sent.
He lov'd them both, but both in vain,
Nor him beheld, nor her again.

Not long beneath the whelming brine,
Expert to swim, he lay;
Nor soon he felt his strength decline,
Or courage die away;
But wag'd with death a lasting strife,
Supported by despair of life.

He shouted: nor his friends had fail'd
To check the vessel's course,
But so the furious blast prevail'd,
That, pitiless perforce,
They left their outcast mate behind,
And scudded still before the wind.

Some succour yet they could afford;
And, such as storms allow,
The cask, the coop, the floated cord,
Delay'd not to bestow.
But he (they knew) nor ship, nor shore,
Whate'er they gave, should visit more.

Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he
Their haste himself condemn,
Aware that flight, in such a sea,
Alone could rescue them;
Yet bitter felt it still to die
Deserted, and his friends so nigh.

He long survives, who lives an hour
In ocean, self-upheld;
And so long he, with unspent pow'r,
His destiny repell'd;
And ever, as the minutes flew,
Entreated help, or cried--Adieu!

At length, his transient respite past,
His comrades, who before
Had heard his voice in ev'ry blast,
Could catch the sound no more.
For then, by toil subdued, he drank
The stifling wave, and then he sank.

No poet wept him: but the page
Of narrative sincere;
That tells his name, his worth, his age,
Is wet with Anson's tear.
And tears by bards or heroes shed
Alike immortalize the dead.

I therefore purpose not, or dream,
Descanting on his fate,
To give the melancholy theme
A more enduring date:
But misery still delights to trace
Its semblance in another's case.

No voice divine the storm allay'd,
No light propitious shone;
When, snatch'd from all effectual aid,
We perish'd, each alone:
But I beneath a rougher sea,
And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he.


Written by William Wordsworth | Create an image from this poem

The Complaint Of A Forsaken Indian Woman

[When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue his journey with his companions; he is left behind, covered over with Deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he is unable to follow, or overtake them, he perishes alone in the Desart; unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other Tribes of Indians. It is unnecessary to add that the females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work, Hearne's Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. In the high Northern Latititudes, as the same writer informs us, when the Northern Lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise. This circumstance is alluded to in the first stanza of the following poem.]

THE COMPLAINT, etc.

  Before I see another day,  Oh let my body die away!  In sleep I heard the northern gleams;  The stars they were among my dreams;  In sleep did I behold the skies,  I saw the crackling flashes drive;  And yet they are upon my eyes,  And yet I am alive.  Before I see another day,  Oh let my body die away!

  My fire is dead: it knew no pain;  Yet is it dead, and I remain.  All stiff with ice the ashes lie;  And they are dead, and I will die.  When I was well, I wished to live,  For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire;  But they to me no joy can give,  No pleasure now, and no desire.  Then here contented will I lie;  Alone I cannot fear to die.

  Alas! you might have dragged me on  Another day, a single one!  Too soon despair o'er me prevailed;  Too soon my heartless spirit failed;  When you were gone my limbs were stronger,  And Oh how grievously I rue,  That, afterwards, a little longer,  My friends, I did not follow you!  For strong and without pain I lay,  My friends, when you were gone away.

  My child! they gave thee to another,  A woman who was not thy mother.  When from my arms my babe they took,  On me how strangely did he look!  Through his whole body something ran,  A most strange something did I see;  —As if he strove to be a man,  That he might pull the sledge for me.  And then he stretched his arms, how wild!  Oh mercy! like a little child.

  My little joy! my little pride!  In two days more I must have died.  Then do not weep and grieve for me;  I feel I must have died with thee.  Oh wind that o'er my head art flying,  The way my friends their course did bend,  I should not feel the pain of dying,  Could I with thee a message send.  Too soon, my friends, you went away;  For I had many things to say.

  I'll follow you across the snow,  You travel heavily and slow:  In spite of all my weary pain,  I'll look upon your tents again.  My fire is dead, and snowy white  The water which beside it stood;  The wolf has come to me to-night,  And he has stolen away my food.  For ever left alone am I,  Then wherefore should I fear to die?

  My journey will be shortly run,  I shall not see another sun,  I cannot lift my limbs to know  If they have any life or no.  My poor forsaken child! if I  For once could have thee close to me,  With happy heart I then should die,  And my last thoughts would happy be.  I feel my body die away,  I shall not see another day.

Written by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | Create an image from this poem

Dedication

 The morn arrived; his footstep quickly scared

The gentle sleep that round my senses clung,
And I, awak'ning, from my cottage fared,

And up the mountain side with light heart sprung;
At every step I felt my gaze ensnared

By new-born flow'rs that full of dew-drops hung;
The youthful day awoke with ecstacy,
And all things quicken'd were, to quicken me.

And as I mounted, from the valley rose

A streaky mist, that upward slowly spread,
Then bent, as though my form it would enclose,

Then, as on pinions, soar'd above my head:
My gaze could now on no fair view repose,

in mournful veil conceal'd, the world seem'd dead;
The clouds soon closed around me, as a tomb,
And I was left alone in twilight gloom.

At once the sun his lustre seem'd to pour,

And through the mist was seen a radiant light;
Here sank it gently to the ground once more,

There parted it, and climb'd o'er wood and height.
How did I yearn to greet him as of yore,

After the darkness waxing doubly bright!
The airy conflict ofttimes was renew'd,
Then blinded by a dazzling glow I stood.

Ere long an inward impulse prompted me

A hasty glance with boldness round to throw;
At first mine eyes had scarcely strength to see,

For all around appear'd to burn and glow.
Then saw I, on the clouds borne gracefully,

A godlike woman hov'ring to and fro.
In life I ne'er had seen a form so fair--
She gazed at me, and still she hover'd there.

"Dost thou not know me?" were the words she said

In tones where love and faith were sweetly bound;
"Knowest thou not Her who oftentimes hath shed

The purest balsam in each earthly wound?
Thou knows't me well; thy panting heart I led

To join me in a bond with rapture crown'd.
Did I not see thee, when a stripling, yearning
To welcome me with tears, heartfelt and burning?"

"Yes!" I exclaim'd, whilst, overcome with joy,

I sank to earth; "I long have worshipp'd thee;
Thou gav'st me rest, when passions rack'd the boy,

Pervading ev'ry limb unceasingly;
Thy heav'nly pinions thou didst then employ

The scorching sunbeams to ward off from me.
From thee alone Earth's fairest gifts I gain'd,
Through thee alone, true bliss can be obtain'd.

"Thy name I know not; yet I hear thee nam'd

By many a one who boasts thee as his own;
Each eye believes that tow'rd thy form 'tis aim'd,

Yet to most eyes thy rays are anguish-sown.
Ah! whilst I err'd, full many a friend I claim'd,

Now that I know thee, I am left alone;
With but myself can I my rapture share,
I needs must veil and hide thy radiance fair.

She smiled, and answering said: "Thou see'st how wise,

How prudent 'twas but little to unveil!
Scarce from the clumsiest cheat are clear'd thine eyes,

Scarce hast thou strength thy childish bars to scale,
When thou dost rank thee 'mongst the deities,

And so man's duties to perform would'st fail!
How dost thou differ from all other men?
Live with the world in peace, and know thee then!"

"Oh, pardon me," I cried, "I meant it well:

Not vainly did'st thou bless mine eyes with light;
For in my blood glad aspirations swell,

The value of thy gifts I know aright!
Those treasures in my breast for others dwell,

The buried pound no more I'll hide from sight.
Why did I seek the road so anxiously,
If hidden from my brethren 'twere to be?"

And as I answer'd, tow'rd me turn'd her face,

With kindly sympathy, that god-like one;
Within her eye full plainly could I trace

What I had fail'd in, and what rightly done.
She smiled, and cured me with that smile's sweet grace,

To new-born joys my spirit soar'd anon;
With inward confidence I now could dare
To draw yet closer, and observe her there.

Through the light cloud she then stretch'd forth her hand,

As if to bid the streaky vapour fly:
At once it seemed to yield to her command,

Contracted, and no mist then met mine eye.
My glance once more survey'd the smiling land,

Unclouded and serene appear'd the sky.
Nought but a veil of purest white she held,
And round her in a thousand folds it swell'd.

"I know thee, and I know thy wav'ring will.

I know the good that lives and glows in thee!"--
Thus spake she, and methinks I hear her still--

"The prize long destined, now receive from me;
That blest one will be safe from ev'ry ill,

Who takes this gift with soul of purity,--"
The veil of Minstrelsy from Truth's own hand,
Of sunlight and of morn's sweet fragrance plann'd.

"And when thou and thy friends at fierce noon-day

Are parched with heat, straight cast it in the air!
Then Zephyr's cooling breath will round you play,

Distilling balm and flowers' sweet incense there;
The tones of earthly woe will die away,

The grave become a bed of clouds so fair,
To sing to rest life's billows will be seen,
The day be lovely, and the night serene."--

Come, then, my friends! and whensoe'er ye find

Upon your way increase life's heavy load;
If by fresh-waken'd blessings flowers are twin'd

Around your path, and golden fruits bestow'd,
We'll seek the coming day with joyous mind!

Thus blest, we'll live, thus wander on our road
And when our grandsons sorrow o'er our tomb,
Our love, to glad their bosoms, still shall bloom.
Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

Helen all Alone

 "In the Same Boat"--A Diversity of Creatures
 There was darkness under Heaven
 For an hour's space--
 Darkness that we knew was given
 Us for special grace.
 Sun and noon and stars were hid,
 God had left His Throne,
 When Helen came to me, she did,
 Helen all alone!

 Side by side (because our fate
 Damned us ere our birth)
 We stole out of Limbo Gate
 Looking for the Earth.
 Hand in pulling hand amid
 Fear no dreams have known,
 Helen ran with me, she did,
 Helen all alone!

 When the Horror passing speech
 Hunted us along,
 Each laid hold on each, and each
 Found the other strong.
 In the teeth of Things forbid
 And Reason overthrown,
 Helen stood by me, she did,
 Helen all alone!

 When, at last, we heard those Fires
 Dull and die away,
 When, at last, our linked desires
 Dragged us up to day;
 When, at last, our souls were rid
 Of what that Night had shown,
 Helen passed from me, she did,
 Helen all alone!

 Let her go and find a mate,
 As I will find a bride,
 Knowing naught of Limbo Gate
 Or Who are penned inside.
 There is knowledge God forbid
 More than one should own.
 So Helen went from me, she did,
 Oh, my soul, be glad she did!
 Helen all alone!
Written by John Keats | Create an image from this poem

Fragment of an Ode to Maia

 MOTHER of Hermes! and still youthful Maia! 
 May I sing to thee 
As thou wast hymned on the shores of Baiae? 
 Or may I woo thee 
In earlier Sicilian? or thy smiles 
Seek as they once were sought, in Grecian isles, 
By bards who died content on pleasant sward, 
 Leaving great verse unto a little clan? 
O give me their old vigour! and unheard 
 Save of the quiet primrose, and the span 
 Of heaven, and few ears, 
Rounded by thee, my song should die away 
 Content as theirs, 
Rich in the simple worship of a day.


Written by Conrad Aiken | Create an image from this poem

The House Of Dust: Part 03: 01: As evening falls

 As evening falls,
And the yellow lights leap one by one
Along high walls;
And along black streets that glisten as if with rain,
The muted city seems
Like one in a restless sleep, who lies and dreams
Of vague desires, and memories, and half-forgotten pain . . .
Along dark veins, like lights the quick dreams run,
Flash, are extinguished, flash again,
To mingle and glow at last in the enormous brain
And die away . . .
As evening falls,
A dream dissolves these insubstantial walls,—
A myriad secretly gliding lights lie bare . . .
The lovers rise, the harlot combs her hair,
The dead man's face grows blue in the dizzy lamplight,
The watchman climbs the stair . . .
The bank defaulter leers at a chaos of figures,
And runs among them, and is beaten down;
The sick man coughs and hears the chisels ringing;
The tired clown
Sees the enormous crowd, a million faces,
Motionless in their places,
Ready to laugh, and seize, and crush and tear . . .
The dancer smooths her hair,
Laces her golden slippers, and runs through the door
To dance once more,
Hearing swift music like an enchantment rise,
Feeling the praise of a thousand eyes.

As darkness falls
The walls grow luminous and warm, the walls
Tremble and glow with the lives within them moving,
Moving like music, secret and rich and warm.
How shall we live tonight? Where shall we turn?
To what new light or darkness yearn?
A thousand winding stairs lead down before us;
And one by one in myriads we descend
By lamplit flowered walls, long balustrades,
Through half-lit halls which reach no end.
Written by Anne Bronte | Create an image from this poem

The Parting

 1 

The chestnut steed stood by the gate
His noble master's will to wait,
The woody park so green and bright
Was glowing in the morning light,
The young leaves of the aspen trees
Were dancing in the morning breeze.
The palace door was open wide,
Its lord was standing there,
And his sweet lady by his side
With soft dark eyes and raven hair.
He smiling took her wary hand
And said, 'No longer here I stand;
My charger shakes his flowing mane
And calls me with impatient neigh.
Adieu then till we meet again,
Sweet love, I must no longer stay.'

2 

'You must not go so soon,' she said,
'I will not say farewell.
The sun has not dispelled the shade
In yonder dewy dell;
Dark shadows of gigantic length
Are sleeping on the lawn;
And scarcely have the birds begun
To hail the summer morn;
Then stay with me a little while,'
She said with soft and sunny smile.

3 

He smiled again and did not speak,
But lightly kissed her rosy cheek,
And fondly clasped her in his arms,
Then vaulted on his steed.
And down the park's smooth winding road
He urged its flying speed.
Still by the door his lady stood
And watched his rapid flight,
Until he came to a distant wood
That hid him from her sight.
But ere he vanished from her view
He waved to her a last adieu,
Then onward hastily he steered
And in the forest disappeared.

4 

The lady smiled a pensive smile
And heaved a gently sigh,
But her cheek was all unblanched the while
And tearless was her eye.
'A thousand lovely flowers,' she said,
'Are smiling on the plain.
And ere one half of them are dead,
My lord will come again.
The leaves are waving fresh and green
On every stately tree,
And long before they die away
He will return to me!' --
Alas! Fair lady, say not so;
Thou canst not tell the weight of woe
That lies in store for thee.

5 

Those flowers will fade, those leaves will fall,
Winter will darken yonder hall;
Sweet spring will smile o'er hill and plain
And trees and flowers will bloom again,
And years will still keep rolling on,
But thy beloved lord is gone.
His absence thou shalt deeply mourn,
And never smile on his return.
Written by Thomas Moore | Create an image from this poem

Alone in Crowds to Wander On

 Alone in crowds to wander on, 
And feel that all the charm is gone 
Which voices dear and eyes beloved 
Shed round us once, where'er we roved -- 
This, this the doom must be 
Of all who've loved, and loved to see 
The few bright things they thought would stay 
For ever near them, die away. 

Though fairer forms around us throng, 
Their smiles to others all belong, 
And want that charm which dwells alone 
Round those the fond heart calls its own, 
Where, where the sunny brow? 
The long-known voice -- where are they now? 
Thus ask I still, nor ask in vain, 
The silence answers all too plain. 

Oh, what is Fancy's magic worth, 
If all her art cannot call forth 
One bliss like those we felt of old 
From lips now mute, and eyes now cold? 
No, no -- her spell in vain -- 
As soon could she bring back again 
Those eyes themselves from out the grave, 
As wake again one bliss they gave.
Written by Edgar Lee Masters | Create an image from this poem

Homer Clapp

 Often Aner Clute at the gate
Refused me the parting kiss,
Saying we should be engaged before that;
And just with a distant clasp of the hand
She bade me good-night, as I brought her home
From the skating rink or the revival.
No sooner did my departing footsteps die away
Than Lucius Atherton,
(So I learned when Aner went to Peoria)
Stole in at her window, or took her riding
Behind his spanking team of bays
Into the country.
The shock of it made me settle down,
And I put all the money I got from my father's estate
Into the canning factory, to get the job
Of head accountant, and lost it all.
And then I knew I was one of Life's fools,
Whom only death would treat as the equal
Of other men, making me feel like a man.
Written by Thomas Moore | Create an image from this poem

Sing Sweet Harp

 Sing, sweet Harp, oh sing to me 
Some song of ancient days, 
Whose sounds, in this sad memory, 
Long-buried dreams shall raise; -- 
Some lay that tells of vanish'd fame, 
Whose light once round us shone, 
Of noble pride, now turn'd to shame, 
And hopes for ever gone. 
Sing, sad Harp, thus sing to me; 
Alike our doom is cast, 
Both lost to all but memory, 
We live but in the past. 

How mournfully the midnight air 
Among thy chords doth sigh, 
As if it sought some echo there, 
Of voices long gone by; -- 
Of chieftains, now forgot, who seem'd 
The foremost then in fame; 
Of Bards who, once immortal deem'd, 
Now sleep without a name. 
In vain, sad Harp, the midnight air 
Among thy chords doth sigh; 
In vain it seeks an echo there 
Of voices long gone by. 

Couldst thou but call those spirits round, 
Who once, in bower and hall, 
Sate listening to thy magic sound, 
Now mute and mouldering all; -- 
But, no; they would but wake to weep 
Their children's slavery; 
Then leave them in their dreamless sleep, 
The dead, at least are free! 
Hush, hush, sad Harp, that dreary tone, 
That knell of Freedom's day; 
Or, listening to its death-like moan, 
Let me, too, die away.

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry