Rachel II
Unto a lonely villa, in a dell
Above the fragrant warm Provencal shore,
The dying Rachel in a chair they bore
Up the steep pine-plumed paths of the Estrelle,
And laid her in a stately room, where fell
The shadow of a marble Muse of yore,
The rose-crown'd queen of legendary lore,
Polymnia, full on her death-bed.--'Twas well!
The fret and misery of our northern towns,
In this her life's last day, our poor, our pain,
Our jangle of false wits, our climate's frowns,
Do for this radiant Greek-soul'd artist cease;
Sole object of her dying eyes remain
The beauty and the glorious art of Greece.
poem by Matthew Arnold from Sonnets (1867)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Angel Of Death
Words and music by hank williams, sr.
Capo: 2nd fret key: e play: d
In the [d] great book of john - you're [g] warned of the [d] day
When you'll be laid - beneath the cold [a7] clay
The [g] angel of [d] death - will [g] come from the [d] sky
And claim your poor soul - when the [a7] time comes to [d] die.
Chorus
When the angel of death - comes [g] down after [d] you
Can you smile and say - that you have been [a7] true
Can you [g] truthfully [d] say - with [g] your dying [d] breath
That you're ready to meet - the [a7] angel of [d] death.
When the [d] lights all grow dim - and the [g] dark shadows [d] creep
And then your loved ones - are gathered to [a7] weep
Can you [g] face them and [d] say - with [g] your dying [d] breath
That you're ready to meet - the [a7] angel of [d] death.
Chorus
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Queen And Country
The wind is on the river and the tide has turned too late,
So we're sailing for another shore where some other ladies wait
To throw us silken whispers: catch us by the anchor chains -
But we all laugh so politely and we sail on just the same
For Queen and Country in the long dying day.
And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away.
We bring back gold and ivory; rings of diamonds; strings of pearls -
Make presents to the government so they can have their social whirl
With Queen and Country in the long dying day.
And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away.
For Queen and Country in the long dying day.
And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away.
They build schools and they build factories
With the spoils of battles won.
And we remain their pretty sailor boys - hold our heads up to the gun
Of Queen and Country in the long dying day.
And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away.
To Queen and Country in the long dying day.
And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away.
To Queen and Country in the long dying day.
And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Angel Of Death
Words and music by hank williams, sr.
Capo: 2nd fret key: e play: d
In the [d] great book of john - youre [g] warned of the [d] day
When youll be laid - beneath the cold [a7] clay
The [g] angel of [d] death - will [g] come from the [d] sky
And claim your poor soul - when the [a7] time comes to [d] die.
Chorus
When the angel of death - comes [g] down after [d] you
Can you smile and say - that you have been [a7] true
Can you [g] truthfully [d] say - with [g] your dying [d] breath
That youre ready to meet - the [a7] angel of [d] death.
When the [d] lights all grow dim - and the [g] dark shadows [d] creep
And then your loved ones - are gathered to [a7] weep
Can you [g] face them and [d] say - with [g] your dying [d] breath
That youre ready to meet - the [a7] angel of [d] death.
Chorus
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song Before Death: From the French
SWEET MOTHER, in a minute’s span
Death parts thee and my love of thee;
Sweet love, that yet art living man,
Come back, true love, to comfort me.
Back, ah, come back! ah wellaway!
But my love comes not any day.
As roses, when the warm West blows,
Break to full flower and sweeten spring,
My soul would break to a glorious rose
In such wise at his whispering.
In vain I listen; wellaway!
My love says nothing any day.
You that will weep for pity of love
On the low place where I am lain,
I pray you, having wept enough,
Tell him for whom I bore such pain
That he was yet, ah! wellaway!
My true love to my dying day.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Deaths Journey
Death like a cancer grows,
When it comes, nobody knows.
Enslaved in shadow,
This 'Killing King',
In wicked wonder, I feel Deaths sting.
Silent destiny,
Death follows creation,
Across the oceans,
Its mankinds damnation.
Death takes the young,
Visits the old,
Rich and poor alike,
Releases the soul.
What is this spector we call death?
It hunts and prowls for our last breath!
Death is with us everyday,
Bringing pain and sorrow,
It will never go away.
Pain, sorrow, misery, and tears,
Inevitable death,
Rules my fears.
A blackened spirit, wanting more,
Ending lifes' journey,
Will death knock on my door?
poem by Philip Lore
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Irony
The poplar trees stood like sentries
Standing on one leg in their green
Uniformed grandeur. Beyond their
Phalanx could be seen a stately
Manor whose imported marble
Pillars were more decorative
Than utile. Not unlike the sole
Inhabitant who lies dying
In his magnificent antique
Breton bed. He never married-
“I’m too busy for such nonsense.”
Consequently, no progeny,
No living relatives, no one
Only a dreadful eulogy:
Alone died a poor man, indeed!
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Queen & Country
The wind is on the river and the tide has turned too late,
So were sailing for another shore where some other ladies wait.
To throw us silken whispers: catch us by the anchor chains ---
But we all laugh so politely and we sail on just the same.
For queen and country in the long dying day,
And its been this way for five long years,
Since we signed our souls away.
We bring back gold and ivory; rings of diamonds; strings of pearls ---
Make presents to the government
So they can have their social whirl
With queen and country in the long dying day.
And its been this way for five long years
Since we signed our souls away.
They build schools and they build factories
With the spoils of battles won.
And we remain their pretty sailor boys ---
Hold our heads up to the gun
Of queen and country in the long dying day.
And its been this way for five long years
Since we signed our souls away.
To queen and country in the long dying day.
And its been this way for five long years
Since we signed our souls away.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And The War Goes On...
Evolution, Revolution,
Atom bomb, Vietnam.
Television, exorcism,
Mao Se Tung, communism.
I'll watch the front,
You watch my back,
Fighting hard while in Iraq.
People dying in this war,
I can't take it anymore.
Robin Hood...He did good,
Drive by's in the neighborhood.
Kids growing up too fast,
Dying from a rocket blast.
JFK...Camelot,
Sniper fire...Deadly shot.
Astronauts on the moon,
Fighting hole...There's little room.
Ham and eggs, soda pop,
Dried out fields, farmers lose a crop.
People running here and there,
Soldiers dying everywhere.
Can you feel our pain?
Its here we must remain!
And the war goes on......
poem by Philip Lore
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Roses Rising
I keep with me
a dying rose
which sleeps beside me
on the pillow.
Once alive it lies now in between
life and my pillow-side breathing
which doesn't allow it to expire
even though it should.
It fell in a swift spiral
from your funeral pyre
and I plucked it up
as a sign
you gave
that we'd remain
for ever close;
forever in love.
On the first night
it quivered from my breath
and I breathed more
and seemingly
that rose contained your soul
and was inspired nightly
to new life
from my warm expirations.
They all think
I am grief-drowned
and will recover soon
but no
they don't understand.
It is not the rose I keep
but the soul
within that sleeps
beside me
each night since.
If spirits live,
and I am sure yours does,
mine reaches yours
in our sleeping rose.
Nineteen
its clear
was too soon
for you to go;
rather you take
refuge with me
each night
disguised as rose
until it truly comes time
for you to go.
I pray each night
hoping that
it is not too soon
but when the time comes
there will be a flight
of two souls;
both rising quietly
in our sleep.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Peace And Dunkirk
Spite of Dutch friends and English foes,
Poor Britain shall have peace at last:
Holland got towns, and we got blows;
But Dunkirk's ours, we'll hold it fast.
We have got it in a string,
And the Whigs may all go swing,
For among good friends I love to be plain;
All their false deluded hopes
Will, or ought to end in ropes;
'But the Queen shall enjoy her own again.'
Sunderland's run out of his wits,
And Dismal double Dismal looks;
Wharton can only swear by fits,
And strutting Hal is off the hooks;
Old Godolphin, full of spleen,
Made false moves, and lost his Queen:
Harry look'd fierce, and shook his ragged mane:
But a Prince of high renown
Swore he'd rather lose a crown,
'Than the Queen should enjoy her own again.'
Our merchant-ships may cut the line,
And not be snapt by privateers.
And commoners who love good wine
Will drink it now as well as peers:
Landed men shall have their rent,
Yet our stocks rise cent, per cent.
The Dutch from hence shall no more millions drain:
We'll bring on us no more debts,
Nor with bankrupts fill gazettes;
'And the Queen shall enjoy her own again.'
The towns we took ne'er did us good:
What signified the French to beat?
We spent our money and our blood,
To make the Dutchmen proud and great:
But the Lord of Oxford swears,
Dunkirk never shall be theirs.
The Dutch-hearted Whigs may rail and complain;
But true Englishmen may fill
A good health to General Hill:
'For the Queen now enjoys her own again.'
poem by Jonathan Swift
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I Live For Your Pain
Unchain your obscenity
Desirable enemy
Await my enlightening
Allow what your fate can bring
Now you re caught inside my cage
You are the object of my rage
Sin, I wash you clean again
I'm your redeemer
Refrn:
Cause I I live for your pain
I live for your pain
I'm dying
My victim you are meant to be
No, you cannot hide nor flee
You know what I'm looking for
Pleasure your torture, I will endure
Now you are rust inside my cage
You are the object of my rage
Sin, I wash you clean again
I'm your redeemer
Cause I I live for your pain
I live for your pain
I'm dying
I'll burn in your flame
I live for your pain
I'm dying
I'm dying
Now you are rust inside my cage
You - the object of my rage
Blood I wash you clean again
I'm your redeemer
Be my deliver
Refrn
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pretty Pink Rose
Shes just been to russia and theyre dying their faces
Theyre dying over there
A pretty pink rose
That rnr lady takes a space-ship ride shes out of this world
A pretty pink rose
And were living for you my love, were living for you
And were dying for you my love
Pretty pink rose
She tore down paris on the tall of thom paine
But the left wings broken the right insane
A pretty pink rose
Have a nice day, its a killer, turn a cheek
Its a christian code
A pretty pink rose
And were living for you my love, were living for you
And were dying for you my love
Pretty pink rose
Shes the poor mans gold shes the anarchist crucible
Flying in the face of the despot cannible
Shes a pretty pink rose
Never let it rain, never let it rain on the heart of the pretty pink rose
Pretty pink rose
And were living for you my love, were living for you
And were dying for you my love, pretty pink rose
Get me thru the pain, thru the pain of the thorn on the pretty pink rose
Never let it rain, never rain never rain, the pretty pink rose
Take me to the heart, to the heart, to the heart, of the pretty pink rose
Take me to the heart, to the heart, to the heart
Take me to the heart, to the heart, to the heart, of the pretty pink rose
Take me to the heart, to the heart, to the heart
Take me to the heart, to the heart, to the heart,, of the pretty pink rose
Take me to the heart, to the heart, to the heart
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Galatea (a riff)
What perfection in eye and cheek,
She shifts her body, I cannot speak,
Her back's soft light of muscled bone
That I would frame in marble stone;
What arrogance in handheld tool
That I could take what's learned in school
And reproduce her subtle beauty
Oh Pygmalion, you fail in duty.
With grace she moves to part the curtain,
In dusky light she stands uncertain
To check the time she has to pose,
What innocence denied of clothes.
Oh Artist here stands your Art
With breathing lips, a beating heart,
She turns to me, head over shoulder,
Complains to me, the room's grown colder.
I take an iron and stoke the coals,
How burns the furnace of my soul,
Oh I would warm her in my arms,
Would violation arouse alarm?
But she resumes her model perch,
Her innocence I would not besmirch,
But I am poor and ill-equipped
To carve the ivory of her hip.
Her perfection stalls my hand
It overcomes my code as man,
I kneel before her radiant beauty
And as an artist forget my duty
poem by David McLansky
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Ballade Of Blind Love
Who have loved and ceased to love, forget
That ever they loved in their lives, they say;
Only remember the fever and fret,
And the pain of Love, that was all his pay;
All the delight of him passes away
From hearts that hoped, and from lips that met -
Too late did I love you, my love, and yet
I shall never forget till my dying day.
Too late were we 'ware of the secret net
That meshes the feet in the flowers that stray;
There were we taken and snared, Lisette,
In the dungeon of La Fausse Amistie;
Help was there none in the wide world's fray,
Joy was there none in the gift and the debt;
Too late we knew it, too long regret -
I shall never forget till my dying day!
We must live our lives, though the sun be set,
Must meet in the masque where parts we play,
Must cross in the maze of Life's minuet;
Our yea is yea, and our nay is nay:
But while snows of winter or flowers of May
Are the sad year's shroud or coronet,
In the season of rose or of violet,
I shall never forget till my dying day!
ENVOY.
Queen, when the clay is my coverlet,
When I am dead, and when you are grey,
Vow, where the grass of the grave is wet,
'I shall never forget till my dying day!'
poem by Andrew Lang
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Demons
Clouds pass over the moon
Like an eye that shows impending doom
Tension in this misty air
Souls pass into the room
Drawn in by a lost memory
You will join them in the moonlight
You are my offering
Your soul transcends
The centuries of pain
Your misery in life
Is your ecstasy in death
Time passes like the wind
As we race to beat days dusky grin
Mornings just a moment away
Your body glistens in candlelight
As we all look on in fiendish delight
The ritual is just beginning
Come fulfill the prophecy
With our demons of debauchery
As virgins and spectress sing
This madness will never cease
In the dead of night
You will follow
In the footsteps of many others
Who have come before
I will show you the altar
Your aztec eyes, egyptian hair
Your beauty bestoved upon my lair
I've loved you before, in other lives
But youve never ment as much to me
Never meant as much to me as now
In this night of sacrafice
Where blood is spilt
That will never spill again
But in your linen robes
We want you now
We want you now
You could never ask for more than that
You are my offering
Your soul transcends
The centuries of pain
Your misery in life
Is your ecstasy in
Come fulfill the prophecy
With our demons of debauchery
This madness will never cease
song performed by by Offspring
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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a Messenger from above
The rain came and came again
like only in the Cape,
in deep winter it can be.
The pain came and came again
like only in a dying thing
spreading throughout the body
and drenching all of it.
Yet it was a thing of the heart
and far apart
from illness, or accident
or broken body.
That desolate night
the sky and sea
and earth was blacked out dark
and a chill rose as if from the soul.
The metal of the revolver
gleamed ominous in the dark
and the man took a deep breath
before cocking back the hammer
and pressing the barrel
against his breast.
Somewhere against the clouded
night sky
a lonely gull stretched its wings
against the raging gale
as if a living thing
could out fly
a torment sky and sea
and could be free from it
and all catastrophes.
One lightning bolt reported sharp
and flashed bright
lighting up the night
and it fell and fell
like a messenger from above.
No bird was still in that sky
and as darkness fell
the man wondered why
and his reflections on ending
his own life
was stunted by a dying bird
that wanted to live.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Feel Like....
I feel like dying dying
Dying without you,
To leave this body,
To take a new.
It's not that I
Hate this night;
It's not that I
Have lost my right..
But I'm dying dying
Dying without you
To leave this present
To embrace a new.
None will mourn here
No heart-break;
No swan-song,
Not one inch's shake..
But, I feel like dying
Dying without you
To yield this robe,
To wear a new.
The secs of hour
Gapes me now....
Time pulls I know,
Inevitably how;
Still I feel like,
Dying, dying without you,
To take another life,
To get the new! !
poem by Nilakshi Das
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The Lady’s Lament
Never happy any more!
Aye, turn the saying o'er and o'er,
It says but what it said before,
And heart and life are just as sore.
The wet leaves blow aslant the floor
In the rain through the open door.
No, no more.
Never happy any more!
The eyes are weary and give o'er,
But still the soul weeps as before.
And always must each one deplore
Each once, nor bear what others bore?
This is now as it was of yore.
No, no more.
Never happy any more!
Is it not but a sorry lore
That says, “Take strength, the worst is o'er”?
Shall the stars seem as heretofore?
The day wears on more and more—
While I was weeping the day wore.
No, no more.
Never happy any more!
In the cold behind the door
That was the dial striking four:
One for joy the past hours bore,
Two for hope and will cast o'er,
One for the naked dark before.
No, no more.
Never happy any more!
Put the light out, shut the door,
Sweep the wet leaves from the floor.
Even thus Fate's hand has swept her floor,
Even thus Love's hand has shut the door
Through which his warm feet passed of yore.
Shall it be opened any more?
No, no, no more.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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On Imagination
THY various works, imperial queen, we see,
How bright their forms! how deck'd with pomp
by thee!
Thy wond'rous acts in beauteous order stand,
And all attest how potent is thine hand.
From Helicon's refulgent heights attend,
Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend:
To tell her glories with a faithful tongue,
Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.
Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies,
Till some lov'd object strikes her wand'ring eyes,
Whose silken fetters all the senses bind,
And soft captivity involves the mind.
Imagination! who can sing thy force?
Or who describe the swiftness of thy course?
Soaring through air to find the bright abode,
Th' empyreal palace of the thund'ring God,
We on thy pinions can surpass the wind,
And leave the rolling universe behind:
From star to star the mental optics rove,
Measure the skies, and range the realms above.
There in one view we grasp the mighty whole,
Or with new worlds amaze th' unbounded soul.
Though Winter frowns to Fancy's raptur'd eyes
The fields may flourish, and gay scenes arise;
The frozen deeps may break their iron bands,
And bid their waters murmur o'er the sands.
Fair Flora may resume her fragrant reign,
And with her flow'ry riches deck the plain;
Sylvanus may diffuse his honours round,
And all the forest may with leaves be crown'd:
Show'rs may descend, and dews their gems disclose,
And nectar sparkle on the blooming rose.
Such is thy pow'r, nor are thine orders vain,
O thou the leader of the mental train:
In full perfection all thy works are wrought,
And thine the sceptre o'er the realms of thought.
Before thy throne the subject-passions bow,
Of subject-passions sov'reign ruler thou;
At thy command joy rushes on the heart,
And through the glowing veins the spirits dart.
Fancy might now her silken pinions try
To rise from earth, and sweep th' expanse on high:
From Tithon's bed now might Aurora rise,
Her cheeks all glowing with celestial dies,
While a pure stream of light o'erflows the skies.
The monarch of the day I might behold,
And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold,
But I reluctant leave the pleasing views,
Which Fancy dresses to delight the Muse;
Winter austere forbids me to aspire,
And northern tempests damp the rising fire;
They chill the tides of Fancy's flowing sea,
Cease then, my song, cease the unequal lay.
poem by Phillis Wheatley
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Raging Fortune
O raging Fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low, O!
O raging Fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low, O!
My stem was fair, my bud was green,
My blossom sweet did blow, O!
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild,
And made my branches grow, O!
But luckless Fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O!
But luckless Fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O!
poem by Robert Burns (1782)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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