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.