Great is my envy of you, earth, in your greed Folding her in invisible embrace,...
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How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need; by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath. Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
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To live in hearts we leave behind Is not to die.
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What though the radiance which was once so bright Be not forever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; Grief not, rather find, Strength in what remains behind, In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be, In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of Human suffering, In the faith that looks through death In years that bring philophic mind.
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Though I am young and cannot tell Either what death or love is well,...
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Sleep, those little slices of death; Oh how I loathe them.
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Becuase I could not stop for Death He kindly stopped for me The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality
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His hair long and plausive. Bastard Masturbating a glitter, He wants to be loved.
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Simple, sincere people seldom speak much of their piety. It shows itself in acts rather than in words, and has more influence than homilies or protestations. Beth could not reason upon or explain the faith that gave her courage and patience to give up life, and cheerfully wait for death. Like a confiding child, she asked no questions, but left everything to God and nature, Father and Mother of us all, feeling sure that they, and they only, could teach and strengthen heart and spirit for this life and the life to come. She did not rebuke Jo with saintly speeches, only loved her better for her passionate affection, and clung more closely to the dear human love, from which our Father never means us to be weaned, but through which He draws us closer to Himself. She could not say, I'm glad to go, for life was very sweet for her. She could only sob out, I try to be willing, while she held fast to Jo, as the first bitter wave of this great sorrow broke over them together.
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Sleep, those little slices of death, how I loathe them.
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Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp because the Dawn has come.
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I answer the heroic question 'Death, where is thy sting' with 'It is here in my heart and mind and memories.'
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Stand close around,ye Stygian set, With Dirce in one boat convey'd,...
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A strong argument for the religion of Christ is this -- that offences against Charity are about the only ones which men on their death-beds can be made -- not to understand -- but to feel -- as crime.
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Thank Heaven! the crisis — The danger, is past,...
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Be the green grass above me, with showers and dewdrops wet; and if thou wilt, remember, and if thou wilt, forget.
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Our fear of death is like our fear that summer will be short, but when we have had our swing of pleasure, our fill of fruit, and our swelter of heat, we say we have had our day.
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The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers. It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of death, in ebb and in flow. I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.
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O eloquent, just, and mighty Death! whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world ...
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Dying Is an art, like everything else....
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Oft have I mused, but now at length I find, Why those that die, men say they do depart.
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Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie....
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I am here because there is no refuge, Finally, from myself, Until I confront myself in the eyes And hearts of others, I am running. Until I suffer them to share my secrets, I have no safety from them. Afraid to be known, I can know neither myself Nor any others; I will be alone. Where else but on this common ground, Can I find such a mirror? Here, together, I can at last appear Clearly to myself, Not as the giant of my dreams, Not the dwarf of my fears, But as a person, part of a whole, With my share in its purpose. In this ground, I can take root and grow. Not alone anymore, as in death, But alive, to my self and to others.
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Because I could not stop for Death -- He kindly stopped for me -- The carriage held but just ourselvesAnd immortality.
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Each dead child coiled, a white serpent, One at each little Pitcher of milk, now empty.
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Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp because dawn has come.
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The death ... of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
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I spent millons of years in the world of inorganic things as a star, as a rock... Then I died and became a plant-- Forgetting my former existence because of its otherness Then I died and became an animal-- Forgetting my life as a plant except for inclinations in the season of spring and sweet herbs-- like the inclination of babes toward their mother's breast Then I died and became a human My intelligence ripened, awakening from greed and self-seeking to become wise and knowing I behold a hundred thousand intelligences most marvelous and remember my former states and inclinations And when I die again I will soar past the angels to places I cannot imagine Now, what have I ever lost by dying?
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Nor youth, nor strength, nor wisdom spring again, Nor habitations long their names retain, But in oblivion to the final day remain.
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What we live by we die by.
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