The graveyard draws the living still,
But never anymore the dead.
The verses in it say and say:
“The ones who living come today
To read the stones and go away
Tomorrow dead will come to stay.”
–In a Disused Graveyard, Robert Frost.
Wheel the wild dance
While lightnings glance,
And thunders rattle loud,
And call the brave
To bloody grave,
To sleep without a shroud.
–The Dance of Death. Sir Walter Scott.
From my hour of birth;
Upon my buried body lie
Lightly, gentle earth.
–Rural Funerals. Washington Irving.
Death is a dialogue between
The spirit and the dust.
“Dissolve,” says Death. The Spirit
“Sir, I have another trust.”
–Death Is A Dialogue Between. Emily Dickinson.
Sing o’er Horace, for ere long
Death will come and mar the song :
Then shall Wilson and Gotiere
Never sing or play more here.
–A Lyric to Mirth. Robert Herrick.
So then thou hast lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead;
The coward conquest of a wretch’s knife,
Too base of thee to be remembered.
–The Sonnets LXXIV: But be contented when that fell arrest. William Shakespeare.
Thy soul shall find itself alone
Alone of all on earth, unknown
The cause, but none are near to pry
–Visit Of The Dead. Edgar Allen Poe.
years to come seemed waste of breath
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
–An Irish Airman Foresees His Death. William Butler Yeats.
How strange it is that man on earth should roam,
And lead a life of woe, but not forsake
His rugged path; nor dare he view alone
His future doom which is but to awake.
–On Death. John Keats.
And I guard thy gates in fear
Of words thou canst not hear
Of peril and jeopardy
Of signs thou canst not see
And thou sayest ’tis ill that I came?
–Evil Land. Rudyard Kipling.
Lastly I ask, now old and chill,
If aught of him remain unperished still;
And find, in me alone, a feeble spark,
Dying amid the dark.
–His Immortality. Thomas Hardy.