A Thought For a Lonely Death Bed-by Elizabeth Barrett-IF God compel thee to this destiny, To die alone, with none beside thy bed To ruffle round with sobs thy last word said And mark with tears the pulses ebb from thee, - Pray then alone, ' O Christ, come tenderly ! By thy forsaken Sonship in the red Drear wine-press, - by the wilderness out-spread, - And the lone garden where thine agony Fell bloody from thy brow, - by all of those Permitted desolations, comfort mine ! No earthly friend being near me, interpose No deathly angel 'twixt my face aud thine, But stoop Thyself to gather my life's rose, And smile away my mortal to Divine !To the Muses Whether on Ida's shady brow, Or in the chambers of the East, The chambers of the sun, that now From ancient melody have ceas'd;Whether in Heav'n ye wander fair, Or the green corners of the earth, Or the blue regions of the air, Where the melodious winds have birth;Whether on crystal rocks ye rove, Beneath the bosom of the sea Wand'ring in many a coral grove, Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry!How have you left the ancient love That bards of old enjoy'd in you! The languid strings do scarcely move! The sound is forc'd, the notes are few!William Blake
The Unquiet Grave-‘The wind doth blow today, my love, And a few small drops of rain; I never had but one true-love; In cold grave she was lain.‘I’ll do as much for my true-love; As any young man may; I’ll sit and mourn at her grave For twelvemonth and a day.’The twelvemonth and a day being up, The dead bean to speak: ‘Oh who sits weeping on my grave, And will not let me sleep?’‘ ’Tis I, my love, sits on your grave, And I will not let you sleep; For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips, And that is all I seek.’‘You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips; But my breath smells earthy strong; If you have one kiss of my clay cold lips, Your time will not be long.‘ ’Tis down in yonder garden green, Love, where we used to walk, The finest flower that ere was seen Is withered to a stalk.‘The stalk is withered dry, my love, So will our hearts decay; So make yourself content, my love Till God calls you away.’ ..Ulver - Blinded by Blood (H.R. Giger) .. AN ISLAND WHERE I CAN REST MY MIND-V. Dead Can Dance - The Protagonist .. ..
Grief-by Elizabet Barrett Browning-I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless; That only men incredulous of despair, Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air Beat upward to God's throne in loud access Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness In souls, as countries, lieth silent-bare Under the blanching vertical eye-glare Of the absolute Heavens. Deep-hearted man, express Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death: - Most like a monumental statue set In everlasting watch and moveless woe, Till itself crumble to the dust beneath. Touch it: the marble eyelids are not wet If it could weep, it could arise and go. To the Evening Star Thou fair-haired angel of the evening, Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown Put on, and smile upon our evening bed! Smile on our loves, and while thou drawest the Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes In timely sleep. Let thy west wing sleep on The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes, And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon, Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide, And the lion glares through the dun forest. The fleeces of our flocks are covered with Thy sacred dew; protect with them with thine influence.William Blake
On The Death-By Charlotte Brontë-THERE 's little joy in life for me, And little terror in the grave ; I 've lived the parting hour to see Of one I would have died to save.Calmly to watch the failing breath, Wishing each sigh might be the last ; Longing to see the shade of death O'er those belovèd features cast.The cloud, the stillness that must part The darling of my life from me ; And then to thank God from my heart, To thank Him well and fervently ;Although I knew that we had lost The hope and glory of our life ; And now, benighted, tempest-tossed, Must bear alone the weary strife. To The Accuser Who is The God of This World Truly My Satan thou art but a Dunce And dost not know the Garment from the Man Every Harlot was a Virgin once Nor canst thou ever change Kate into NanTho thou art Worship'd by the Names Divine Of Jesus & Jehovah thou art still The Son of Morn in weary Nights decline The lost Travellers Dream under the HillWilliam Blake
Death-by William Butler Yeats-Nor dread nor hope attend A dying animal; A man awaits his end Dreading and hoping all; Many times he died, Many times rose again. A great man in his pride Confronting murderous men Casts derision upon Supersession of breath; He knows death to the bone - Man has created death. To Tirzah Whate'er is Born of Mortal Birth Must be consumed with the Earth To rise from Generation free: Then what have I to do with thee?The Sexes sprung from Shame & Pride, Blow'd in the morn, in evening died; But Mercy chang'd Death into Sleep; The Sexes rose to work & weep.Thou, Mother of my Mortal part, With cruelty didst mould my Heart, And with false self-deceiving tears Didst bind my Nostrils, Eyes, & Ears:Didst close my Tongue in senseless clay, And me to Mortal Life betray. The Death of Jesus set me free: Then what have I to do with thee?William Blake
To Winter O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.' He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep Rides heavy; his storms are unchain'd, sheathèd In ribbèd steel; I dare not lift mine eyes, For he hath rear'd his sceptre o'er the world.Lo! now the direful monster, whose 1000 skin clings To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks: He withers all in silence, and in his hand Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.He takes his seat upon the cliffs,--the mariner Cries in vain. Poor little wretch, that deal'st With storms!--till heaven smiles, and the monster Is driv'n yelling to his caves beneath mount Hecla.William Blake Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night-by Dylan Thomas-Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
AN ISLAND WHERE I CAN REST MY MIND-VJe t'aimeJe t'aime dans la douceur d'un soir Dans l'ivresse de l'espoir Dans la chaleur de tes bras Dans le plissé de tes draps...Je t'aime dans le matin levant Dans le désir naissant Dans les baisers enivrants Laissant nos corps ardents...Dans le frisson assoiffé Sublime de volupté D'une caresse faite de sensualité D'un moment de tendresse à hurler...Je t'aime le jour et la nuit Sous l'étoile qui luit Dans le calme du ruisseau Dans la force du roseau...Dans le sourire et dans les larmes Dans la pureté de mon âme En attente d'éternité... A jamais... je t'aimerai... VA O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!The hills tell each other, and the listening Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth, And let thy holy feet visit our clime.Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put Thy golden crown upon her languished head, Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.William Blake