En.Citatepedia^®.ro

In The Garden At Swainston

NIGHTINGALES warbled without,
Within was weeping for thee:
Shadows of three dead men
Walk'd in the walks with me:
Shadows of three dead men, and thou wast one of the three.

Nightingales sang in the woods:
The Master was far away:
Nightingales warbled and sang
Of a passion that lasts but a day;
Still in the house in his coffin the Prince of courtesy lay.

Two dead men have I known
In courtesy like to thee:
Two dead men have I loved
With a love that ever will be:
Three dead men have I loved, and thou art last of the three.

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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A PÆan

How shall the burial rite be read?
The solemn song be sung ?
The requiem for the loveliest dead,
That ever died so young?

II.

Her friends are gazing on her,
And on her gaudy bier,
And weep ! - oh! to dishonor
Dead beauty with a tear!

III.

They loved her for her wealth -
And they hated her for her pride -
But she grew in feeble health,
And they love her - that she died.

IV.

They tell me (while they speak
Of her 'costly broider'd pall')
That my voice is growing weak -
That I should not sing at all -

V.

Or that my tone should be
Tun'd to such solemn song
So mournfully - so mournfully,
That the dead may feel no wrong.

VI.

But she is gone above,
With young Hope at her side,
And I am drunk with love
Of the dead, who is my bride. -

VII.

Of the dead - dead who lies
All perfum'd there,
With the death upon her eyes,
And the life upon her hair.

VIII.

Thus on the coffin loud and long
I strike - the murmur sent
Through the grey chambers to my song,
Shall be the accompaniment.

IX.

Thou died'st in thy life's June -
But thou did'st not die too fair:
Thou did'st not die too soon,
Nor with too calm an air.

X.

From more than fiends on earth,
Thy life and love are riven,
To join the untainted mirth
Of more than thrones in heaven -

XII.

Therefore, to thee this night
I will no requiem raise,
But waft thee on thy flight,
With a Pæan of old days.

poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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Farewell

Mother, with unbowed head
Hear thou across the sea
The farewell of the dead,
The dead who died for thee.
Greet them again with tender words and grave,
For saving thee, themselves they could not save.

To keep the house unharmed
Their fathers built so fair,
Deeming endurance armed
Better than brute despair,
They found the secret of the word that saith,
'Service is sweet, for all true life is death.'

So greet thou well thy dead
Across the homeless sea,
And be thou comforted
Because they died for thee.
Far off they served, but now their deed is done
For evermore their life and thine are one.

poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Agassiz

I stand again on the familiar shore,
And hear the waves of the distracted sea
Piteously calling and lamenting thee,
And waiting restless at thy cottage door.
The rocks, the sea-weed on the ocean floor,
The willows in the meadow, and the free
Wild winds of the Atlantic welcome me;
Then why shouldst thou be dead, and come no more?
Ah, why shouldst thou be dead, when common men
Are busy with their trivial affairs,
Having and holding? Why, when thou hadst read
Nature's mysterious manuscript, and then
Wast ready to reveal the truth it bears,
Why art thou silent! Why shouldst thou be dead?

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Dead Or Alive

There in the shadows, looks like a hand
Without its owner, to give it a command
Its got a purpose but I dont know what it is
Im in trouble
There in the streets, looks like a man
But something wrong that I dont understand
His eyes are open but he dont see a thing
His skin is peeling off, his bones are sticking out
Im getting scared
Oh my God (is it dead? )
Is it living? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
(is it dead? ), is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
Hiding in the cupboards, like little mice
Hiding in the frigerator, that isnt nice
Its not an animal, it dont have legs
No one else can see it
It moves so fast, corner of my eye
Look again its gone, its hiding
Wont somebody help me, doesnt anybody care?
It waits so patiently, for me to lose my guard
Im getting scared
Is it dead, is it
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead or alive
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead, is it
I remember there was a time
When dead and buried meant just that
Underneath the cold dark ground
Things stay put!
Oh them bones they make them bodies walk
Them bones, them bones
If they could only talk!
Is it dead (fade)

song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Dead, All Dead

Memories, my memories
How long can you stay
To haunt my days
She came without a farthing
A babe without a name
So much ado about nothing
Is what shed try to say
So much ado my lover
So many games we played
Through every fleeted summer
Through every precious day
All dead all dead
All the dreams we had
And I wonder why I still live on
All dead all dead
And alone Im spared
My sweeter half instead
All dead
And gone
All dead...
All dead all dead
At the rainbows end
And still I hear her own sweet song
All dead all dead
Take me back again
You know my little friends
All dead
And gone
All dead and gone
Her ways are always with me
I wander all the while
But please you must forgive me
I am old but still a child
All dead all dead
But I should not grieve
In time it comes to everyone
All dead all dead
But in hope I breathe
Of course I dont believe
Youre dead
And gone
All dead
And gone

song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I Think Of Myself As Dead

WHEN I THINK OF MYSELF AS DEAD

When I think of myself as dead
I think of what it will mean for my loved ones
I pray they will not lose heart and hope because of it-
When my father died my brother lost hope-

When I think of myself dead
I wonder about God and God�s purpose
Is there really an afterlife?
What could it mean?
Will I meet again those who have gone before me?

When I think of myself dead
I think about a body in the ground
Worms eating it, cold paining it-

When I think of myself as dead
I think about never feeling anything again-

When I think about myself as dead
I think about the work I have left behind
And whether it will mean anything to anyone
And for how long-

When I think of myself as dead
I think of all the memories that will go with me
I think about nothing and more nothing and the end of the universe-

When I think of myself as dead
I think of life going on down below
Life with all its beauty and pain
And I pray and I pray again
My loved ones will be able to manage and make their own lives still happy

When I think of myself as dead
I pray to G-d
That somehow in some way
It will not be the end for me forever.

When I think of myself as dead
I think of myself as living again somehow
In a way I cannot now know-

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Master Of My Pen, The Author Of My Woe

The master of my pen, the author of my woe
My loves sorrow, my love's flower morose
In my night dreams, in strange light show
An apparition of dead love, her ghastly ghost
O! Love dead! To me thou love still grow
And dampen my dreams, with serious tears
Awakening my unconscious to my conscious flow
Insinuating thy sweet sorrow into my love's fears
Thou art dead, and the sadness I feel
Is the sadness thou art, for thou cannot love me again
For thy hand is as weak as air, thou art not real
Only real in my emotive river, of lasting pain
My love, my love, thou became my love only
For thou art dead and I am sorrowfully lonely…

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Sonnet 31: Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts

Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposèd dead,
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought burièd.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things removed that hidden in thee lie!
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give;
That due of many now is thine alone.
Their images I loved, I view in thee,
And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.

poem by William Shakespeare
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Uhland's

There were three cavaliers that went over the Rhine,
And gayly they called to the hostess for wine.
"And where is thy daughter? We would she were here,--
Go fetch us that maiden to gladden our cheer!"

"I'll fetch thee thy goblets full foaming," she said,
"But in yon darkened chamber the maiden lies dead."
And lo! as they stood in the doorway, the white
Of a shroud and a dead shrunken face met their sight.

Then the first cavalier breathed a pitiful sigh,
And the throb of his heart seemed to melt in his eye,
And he cried, "Hadst thou lived, O my pretty white rose,
I ween I had loved thee and wed thee--who knows?"

The next cavalier drew aside a small space,
And stood to the wall with his hands to his face;
And this was the heart-cry that came with his tears:
"I loved her, I loved her these many long years!"

But the third cavalier kneeled him down in that place,
And, as it were holy, he kissed that dead face:
"I loved thee long years, and I love thee to-day,
And I'll love thee, dear maiden, forever and aye!"

poem by Eugene Field
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Cold!

Come not to me with loveliness
Across the crying hill;
For once I held thee pitiless
Hast thou no pity still?

Come not to me with hot delight,
And touch this moveless clay,
Lest my poor heart that knows the night
Awake and feel the day.

Come not to me and kiss this head,
And heat me with thy fire;
For I am dead, and thou art dead;
And dead is my desire.

poem by Leon Gellert
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: CIV

THE SAME CONTINUED
O world, in very truth thou art too young,
They gave thee love who measured out thy skies,
And, when they found for thee another star,
Who made a festival and straightway hung
The jewel on thy neck. O merry world,
Hast thou forgot the glory of those eyes
Which first looked love in thine? Thou hast not furled
One banner of thy bridal car for them.
O world, in very truth thou art too young.
There was a voice which sang about thy Spring,
Till Winter froze the sweetness of his lips,
And lo, the worms had hardly left his tongue
Before thy nightingales were come again.
O world, what courage hast thou thus to sing?
Say, has thy merriment no secret pain
No sudden weariness that thou art young?

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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A Woman’s Sonnets: V

Whate'er the cost to me, with this farewell,
I shall not see thee, speak to thee again.
If some on Earth must feel the pangs of Hell,
Mine only be it who have earned my pain.
No matter if my life be blank and dead,
Bankrupt of pleasure: it is better so
Than risk dishonour on a once loved head,
Than link all loved ones with my own sole woe.
I have no claim to bring grief's shade on these,
To mix their pure life's waters with my wine,
To vex the dead, dear dead, in their new peace
With knowledge of my sin and great decline.
For these I leave thee, and, though life be rent
With the rude fight, think not I shall relent.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Written at Florence

O WORLD, in very truth thou art too young;
When wilt thou learn to wear the garb of age?
World, with thy covering of yellow flowers,
Hast thou forgot what generations sprung
Out of thy loins and loved thee and are gone?
Hast thou no place in all their heritage
Where thou dost only weep, that I may come
Nor fear the mockery of thy yellow flowers?
   O world, in very truth thou art too young.
The heroic wealth of passionate emprize
Built thee fair cities for thy naked plains:
How hast thou set thy summer growth among
The broken stones which were their palaces!
Hast thou forgot the darkness where he lies
Who made thee beautiful, or have thy bees
Found out his grave to build their honeycombs?

O world, in very truth thou art too young:
They gave thee love who measured out thy skies,
And, when they found for thee another star,
Who made a festival and straightway hung
The jewel on thy neck. O merry world,
Hast thou forgot the glory of those eyes
Which first look'd love in thine? Thou hast not furl'd
One banner of thy bridal car for them.
   O world, in very truth thou art too young.
There was a voice which sang about thy spring,
Till winter froze the sweetness of his lips,
And lo, the worms had hardly left his tongue
Before thy nightingales were come again.
O world, what courage hast thou thus to sing?
Say, has thy merriment no secret pain,
No sudden weariness that thou art young?

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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To Ailsa Rock

Hearken, thou craggy ocean-pyramid,
Give answer by thy voice—the sea-fowls' screams!
When were thy shoulders mantled in huge streams?
When from the sun was thy broad forehead hid?
How long is't since the mighty Power bid
Thee heave to airy sleep from fathom dreams—
Sleep in the lap of thunder or sunbeams—
Or when grey clouds are thy cold coverlid!
Thou answer'st not; for thou art dead asleep.
Thy life is but two dead eternities,
The last in air, the former in the deep!
First with the whales, last with the eagle-skies!
Drowned wast thou till an earthquake made thee steep,
Another cannot wake thy giant-size!

poem by John Keats
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Hope Dieth: Hope Liveth

Strong are thine arms, O love, & strong
Thine heart to live, and love, and long;
But thou art wed to grief and wrong:
Live, then, and long, though hope be dead!
Live on, & labour thro’ the years!
Make pictures through the mist of tears,
Of unforgotten happy fears,
That crossed the time ere hope was dead.
Draw near the place where once we stood
Amid delight’s swift-rushing flood,
And we and all the world seemed good
Nor needed hope now cold and dead.
Dream in the dawn I come to thee
Weeping for things that may not be!
Dream that thou layest lips on me!
Wake, wake to clasp hope’s body dead!
Count o’er and o’er, and one by one
The minutes of the happy sun
That while agone on kissed lips shone,
Count on, rest not, for hope is dead.
Weep, though no hair’s breadth thou shalt move
The living Earth, the heaven above
By all the bitterness of love!
Weep and cease not, now hope is dead!
Sighs rest thee not, tears bring no ease,
Life hath no joy, and Death no peace:
The years change not, though they decrease,
For hope is dead, for hope is dead.
Speak, love, I listen: far away
I bless the tremulous lips, that say,
“Mock not the afternoon of day,
Mock not the tide when hope is dead!”
I bless thee, O my love, who say’st:
“Mock not the thistle-cumbered waste;
I hold Love’s hand, and make no haste
Down the long way, now hope is dead.
With other names do we name pain,
The long years wear our hearts in vain.
Mock not our loss grown into gain,
Mock not our lost hope lying dead.
Our eyes gaze for no morning-star,
No glimmer of the dawn afar;
Full silent wayfarers we are
Since ere the noon-tide hope lay dead.
Behold with lack of happiness
The master, Love, our hearts did bless
Lest we should think of him the less:
Love dieth not, though hope is dead!”

poem by William Morris
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Don't Cry

Why do you cry? He has risen.
Why are you weeping? He's not dead.
Why do you cry? he has risen.
Why are you weeping? He's not dead.
He paid it all on that lonely highway(hayyyy). And his anointing I can feel. He shed his blood (ohh ohh ohh). For my
transgressions (ohh ohh ohh). And by his stripes we are healed.

Why do you cry? He has risen.
Why are you weeping? He's not dead.
So as you go through lifes journey(neeeee). Don't you worry lift up your head. Don't you cry (ohh ohh ohh) stop your weeping
(ohh ohh ohh) He has risen He's not dead.

[Chorus]
Don't cry
wipe your eyes
He's not dead.

(ohh ohh ohh ohh)
Don't weep
He's not asleep
Je-hovah
He's not dead

(ohh ohh ohh ohh)
Don't cry
wipe your eyes
He's not dead

[with modulation repeat 4x's]

song performed by by Kirk Franklin from The Rebirth Of Kirk Franklin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brunton Stephens

The gentle heart that hated wrong,
The courage that all ills withstood,
The seeing eye, the mighty song
That stirred us into Nationhood,
Have passed. What garlands can be spread?
The Prince of Courtesy is dead.
The power that touched all human chords
With wit that lightened thro’ the years
Without a sting, whose tender words
Unsealed the fountain of our tears—
Ah! bow the heart and bend the head—
The Prince of Courtesy is dead.

Great Singer of the South, who set
Thy face to Duty as a star,
Though, in hushed skies of violet,
Thy throne of kingship gleamed afar,
Shall not the toil of common days
Add nobler lustre to thy bays!

O Mighty Voice, whose words shall stand—
When all our songs have ceased to be—
Steadfast, the watchwords of our land,
The guide and torch of Liberty!
The Master-Poet called afar,
And thou at last hast found thy star!

poem by George Essex Evans
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Satin In A Coffin

You were laying on the carpet
like you're satin in a coffin.
You said, "Do you believe what you're sayin'?"
Yeah right now, but not that often.
Are you dead or are you sleepin'?
Are you dead or are you sleepin'?
Are you dead or are you sleepin'?
God I sure hope you are dead.
Well you disappeared so often
like you dissolved into coffee.
Are you here right now
or are there probably fossils under your meat?
Are you dead or are you sleepin'?
Are you dead or are you sleepin'?
Are you dead or are you sleepin'?
God I sure hope you are dead.
Now the blow's been softened,
since the air we breathe's our coffin.
Well now the blow's been softened,
since the ocean is our coffin.
Often times you know our laughter
is your coffin ever after.
And you know the blow's been softened,
since the world is our coffin.
Well now the blow's been softened
since we are our own damn coffins.
Well everybody's talkin' about their short lists.
Everybody's talkin' about death.
You were laying on the carpet
like you're satin in a coffin.
You said, "Do you believe what you're sayin'?"
Yeah right now, but not that often.
Are you dead or are you sleepin'?
Are you dead or are you sleepin'?
Are you dead or are you sleepin'?
God, I sure hope you are dead.

song performed by by Modest Mouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dead And Broken

Too many things I've never spoken
I'm not feeling fine
I never told you what to do
I never made you a promise that you could hold me to
That'll be the day you see me crying
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
How many different faces can you show me?
How many times can you be right?
Another world of fantasy
Another reason for dramatizing everything
Taking it all in just one more time
I'm dying
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
Sorry to see that you're underestimated lately
I'd rather be dead and broken than living in your grace
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken

song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Remembering Your Love

Do I look meagerly for thou art to far from me
Like death took thee too far for mine eyes to see
But thy remembrance in a glance shows thee pure
My memories enhance thy beauty, and mine memory cure
The missing vessel of my love, mine depression of thought
As thou come to me embosomed with the happiness thou brought
Bringing me to an epicenter of love; erupting in joy
Bashful I blush, turn my head, and sweetly coy
To be loved once is to eternally be loved, my love said
The words rang and awoke my ghost from depravity dead
Remembering your love….

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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