Showing posts tagged Death
Love makes us poets, and the approach of death should make us philosophers.
George Santayana, The Sense of Beauty

(Source: eternalsages)

Oh! ever thus, from childhood’s hour,
I’ve seen my fondest hopes decay;
I never lov’d a tree or flower,
But ‘twas the first to fade away.
I never nurs’d a dear gazelle,
To glad me with its soft black eye,
But when it came to know me well,
And love me, it was sure to die!
Thomas Moore, Oh! Ever Thus, From Childhood’s Hour

(Source: eternalsages)

In summer’s mellow midnight
A cloudless moon shone through
Our open parlour window
And rosetrees wet with dew -

I sat in silent musing -
The soft wind waved my hair;
It told me Heaven was glorious
And sleeping Earth was fair -

I needed not its breathing
To bring such thoughts to me,
But still it whispered lowly
‘How dark the woods will be! -

‘The thick leaves in my murmur
Are rustling like a dream,
And all their myriad voices
Instinct with spirit seem.”

I said ‘Go, gentle singer
Thy wooing voice is kind
But do not think its music
Has power to reach my mind -

‘Play with the scented flower,
The young tree’s supple bough -
And leave my human feelings
In their own course to flow.’

The Wanderer would not leave me;
Its kiss grew warmer still -
‘O come’, it sighed so sweetly,
‘I’ll win thee ‘gainst thy will.’

‘Have we not been from childhood friends?
Have I not loved thee long?
As long as though hast loved the night
Whose silence wakes my song.

‘And when thy heart is resting
Beneath the churchyard stone
I shall have time for mourning
And thou for being alone.’

Emily Bonte, The Night Wind

(Source: eternalsages)

My day passes between logic, whistling, going for walks, and being depressed. I wish to God that I were more intelligent and everything would finally become clear to me - or else that I needn’t live much longer.
Ludwig Wittgenstein, Letters to Russell, Keynes and Moore

(Source: eternalsages)

All the flowers of the spring
Meet to perfume our burying;
These have but their growing prime,
And man does flourish but his time:
Survey our progress from our birth;
We are set, we grow, we turn to earth.
Courts adieu, and all delights,
All bewitching appetites!
Sweetest breath and clearest eye,
Like perfumes, go out and die;
And consequently this is done
As shadows wait upon the sun.
Vain ambition of kings
Who seek by trophies and dead things
To leave a living name behind,
And weave but nets to catch the wind.
John Webster, Vanitas Vanitatum

(Source: eternalsages)

If after I die, people want to write my biography, there is nothing simpler. They only need two dates: the date of my birth and the date of my death. Between one and another, every day is mine.
Fernando Pessoa, Poems of Fernando Pessoa

(Source: eternalsages)

With you a part of me hath passed away;
For in the peopled forest of my mind
A tree made leafless by this wintry wind
Shall never don again its green array.
Chapel and fireside, country road and bay,
Have something of their friendliness resigned;
Another, if I would, I could not find,
And I am grown much older in a day.

But yet I treasure in my memory
Your gift of charity, and young hearts ease,
And the dear honour of your amity;
For these once mine, my life is rich with these.
And I scarce know which part may greater be,—
What I keep of you, or you rob from me.

George Santayana, Sonnet II, from “To W.P.”

(Source: eternalsages)

Death, therefore, the most awful of evils, is nothing to us, seeing that, when we are, death is not come, and when death is come, we are not.
Epicurus

(Source: eternalsages)

Even such is time, that takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with earth and dust;
Who, in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days:
But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
My God shall raise me up, I trust.
Sir Walter Raleigh, Even Such Is Time

(Source: eternalsages)

Who is in charge of the clattering train?
The axles creak and the couplings strain,
And the pace is hot, and the points are near,
And Sleep has deadened the driver’s ear;
And the signals flash through the night in vain,
For Death is in charge of the clattering train.
Anonymous, Who’s In Charge Of The Clattering Train

(Source: eternalsages)

When I am dead, I hope it may be said:
‘His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.’
Hilaire Belloc, An Author’s Hope

(Source: eternalsages)

No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend’s
Or of thine own were:
Any man’s death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.
John Donne, No Man Is An Island

(Source: eternalsages)

It’s little I care what path I take,
And where it leads it’s little I care;
But out of this house, lest my heart break,
I must go, and off somewhere.

It’s little I know what’s in my heart,
What’s in my mind it’s little I know,
But there’s that in me must up and start,
And it’s little I care where my feet go.

I wish I could walk for a day and a night,
And find me at dawn in a desolate place
With never the rut of a road in sight,
Nor the roof of a house, nor the eyes of a face.

I wish I could walk till my blood should spout,
And drop me, never to stir again,
On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out,
And the weedy rocks are bare to the rain.

But dump or dock, where the path I take
Brings up, it’s little enough I care;
And it’s little I’d mind the fuss they’ll make,
Huddled dead in a ditch somewhere.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Departure

(Source: eternalsages)

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead man naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan’t crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

Dylan Thomas, And Death Shall Have No Dominion

I thought of you and how you love this beauty,
And walking up the long beach all alone
I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder
As you and I once heard their monotone.

Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me
The cold and sparkling silver of the sea —
We two will pass through death and ages lengthen
Before you hear that sound again with me.

Sarah Teasdale, I Thought of You

(Source: eternalsages)