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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Sleep, those little slices of death, how I loathe them.
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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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Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp because the Dawn has come.
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Stand close around,ye Stygian set, With Dirce in one boat convey'd,...
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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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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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Dying Is an art, like everything else....
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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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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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Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie....
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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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Duty is heavier than a mountain, death lighter than a feather.
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The death ... of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
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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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What we live by we die by.
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Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp because dawn has come.
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Life is better than death, I believe, if only because it is less boring, and because it has fresh peaches in it.
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Love's over brimming mystery joins death and life. It has filled my cup of pain with joy.
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Each dead child coiled, a white serpent, One at each little Pitcher of milk, now empty.
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