Death Quotes — page 80

Never here, forever there, Where all parting, pain, and care, And death, and time shall disappear,— Forever there, but never here! The horologe of Eternity Sayeth this incessantly,—

A Grave – is a restricted Breadth – Yet ampler than the Sun – And all the Seas He populates And lands he looks uponTo Him who on its small Repose Bestows a single Friend – Circumference without Relief –

An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king, — Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow Through public scorn, — mud from a muddy spring, — Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know, But leech-like to their fainting country cling, …

Sweetest love, I do not go, For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter love for me; But since that I Must die at last, 'tis best,

O young Mariner, You from the haven Under the sea-cliff, You that are watching The gray Magician With eyes of wonder,

An Alma girl! oh shame, deep shame, To Brahma's race and Brahma's name! Unmarked, unpitied, she turned aside, For a moment her bursting tears to hide. None thought of the Bayadere, till the fire Blazed redly and fiercely the funeral pyre,

They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast, And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest.

Teas, Where small talk dies in agonies.

The Phoenix riddle hath more wit By us, we two being one, are it. So to one neutral thing both sexes fit, We die and rise the same, and prove Mysterious by this love.

Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many a summer dies the swan.

There was a grave just closed. Not one seemed near, To pay the tribute of one long—last tear! How very desolate must that one be, Whose more than grave has not a memory!

O lift me from the grass! I die! I faint! I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas! My heart beats loud and fast:

Sleep is pain's easiest salve, and doth fulfill All offices of death, except to kill.

Break, break, break At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.

Statues but known from shapes of the earth, By being too lovely for mortal birth; Paintings whose colours of life were caught From the fairy tints in the rainbow wrought; Music whose sighs had a spell like those That float on the sea at …

Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me,

The lyric lark, and the grave whispering dove, The sparrow that neglects his life for love, The household bird with the red stomacher.

Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss: My own sweet Alice, we must die. There's somewhat in this world amiss Shall be unriddled by and by. There's somewhat flows to us in life, But more is taken quite away.

Some say that gleams of a remoter world Visit the soul in sleep, — that death is slumber, And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber Of those who wake and live.

Think then, my soul, that death is but a groom, Which brings a taper to the outward room.

She only said, "My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!'

Sweet the rose which lives in Heaven, Although on earth ’tis planted, Where its honours blow, While by earth’s slaves the leaves are riven Which die the while they glow.

She, she is dead; she’s dead; when thou know’st this, Thou know’st how dry a cinder this world is.

Where Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves fall: But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Thick-leaved, ambrosial, With an ancient melody