When All Is Done
When all is done, and my last word is said,
And ye who loved me murmur, 'He is dead,'
Let no one weep, for fear that I should know,
And sorrow too that ye should sorrow so.
When all is done and in the oozing clay,
Ye lay this cast-off hull of mine away,
Pray not for me, for, after long despair,
The quiet of the grave will be a prayer.
For I have suffered loss and grievous pain,
The hurts of hatred and the world's disdain,
And wounds so deep that love, well-tried and pure,
Had not the pow'r to ease them or to cure.
When all is done, say not my day is o'er,
And that thro' night I seek a dimmer shore:
Say rather that my morn has just begun,--
I greet the dawn and not a setting sun,
When all is done.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Related quotes
Sorrow Under Mist
Mist -
Giving wispy vapour to the breath,
Cool calm to autumn afternoons,
A hovering air of mysticism
Over brooding lakes -
Was different here,
Affording company, closeness -
A caring arm around her shoulders.
In the eyes, a once-clear oceanic blue
Wavered under water -
Tears telling torrid truths
She couldn't face -
Like the glowering image in the mirror
You don't see in your mind's eye
Of compensation; delusion.
We see her sitting on the concrete steps
That led down to the dew-laden garden.
She's peering up, sensing her diffuse companion,
Refreshing in its chill; giving crispness
To the stealth of dulling evening.
But the bite of air couldn't lift the sorrow
Of pale youth in love,
Shouldered by a not-in-love and scoffing eye.
Rejection hurt;
Hurts -
Wrenches deep -
Emotion that we can't deny!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
Sorrow Rain
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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No More Tears
No more tears are left to fall.
I've cried so long I cried them all.
I must be strong. I must be brave,
but it's so hard here at your grave.
I pray that God will help me heal.
He knows the sorrow that I feel.
His love is pure, His purpose true.
I can't forget He loves you too.
With all my soul, and all my heart,
I'll trust in Him while we're apart,
for only He can ease my pain,
until we are together again.
poem by Ron Tranmer
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I could not forget..............
Sorrow laid by me all nights along
his tears were flowing all along
He cried all nights and never depart
Cause me pain in my heart
I asked him to leave me for a night
but he refused and hold me tight
Sorrow told me he feels so sad
for me cause i treat myself so bad
I told him not to do what he do
because i will never let my love go
Sorrow surprised for my speech
cause he thought he could be the leech
to the deep wound that inside
the heart of me and i denied
But sorry, I could not forget
the one i loved once and get
So leave me sorrow for loving him
Cause no one could ever be like him
About the wound believe me i can endure
because i will do my best to get back its cure
poem by Passionate flower
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Failing Mask
I wear a clay mask
A mask of strength and happiness
That its true task
Is to cover my true sadness
A loss so deep and discerning
It makes my body yearning
For something to fill this void
That seems to always loid
Around my broken heart of despair
Yet so many people seem to care
Its pain is still so very deep
Of a loss I wish to not ever seek
So I wear this mask of happiness and strength
For I know its job will soon fall to length
For all the sadness and pain I have endured
This mask is going to fall
As a building to tall
So I know
It will shatter and fall
So I pray for you all
That you will not fall
To such a loss of mine
So terrible in mind
poem by Eric Mills
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Painful Title
It’s just a useless try to fall in love
It’s just a cry
Just a die
And you ignore
All I want
Time is up
I am down
It needs time
time, like a horse
like a dead horse
dead hours
turn the seconds
No, no, no need to help
No help
No word
No alarm
No fight
Love is leaving
And the world is bored of
My fixed moments
Of my silence
Of my dead horse
Big pains
Big souls
Small cures
Short smiles
Deep eye
Deep mind
A little word
Destroy world
No time
No cure
No mind
No word
Big pain
Bigger pain
Largest pain
No word
No cure
No time
There’s a question
A pain
A painful cancer
A sculpture
Numb like a dead
I’m a beautiful reflection of sadness.
poem by Mohammad Reza Dousti
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Sad eyes (Angel incarnate)
Sad eyes cry many tears
Many unseen by those around
These eyes are mine
For I'm alone in a world of sorrow
I tried hiding but it found me
I tried running but it captured me
I soon realized you can't escape
Not from pain, sorrow, fear or death
They all catch up with us eventually.
I was put here not to suffer
But to learn
To learn what makes sorrow, pain, fear, and death.
To learn, to understand and find a way to ease people's fears of death and to take away their sorrow
Sad eyes cry many tears
Many unseen by those around
These eyes are mine
For I'm alone in a world of sorrow
I know I look youthful but really I'm ancient
I was here a little after the beginning my soul reincarnate always knowing and seeing what I've seen
Never being deceived herself but seeing the deceitful people around her
My eyes are sad because I'm supposed to be innocent but I'm not
They're sad because I can never just be who I am
Because if I do I'll be feared and harmed even though I myself am essentially harmless
I pity those around me but find no pity towards me in others eyes
I'm the angel incarnate
I lost my wings because my tears washed them away
poem by Jenna Camilla
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God Heals Our Hurts
God brings us courageously
through all our sorrow and pain.
He touches the hurts in our hearts
and heals them in His own time and way.
When we give our sorrow to Him,
He bears it for us.
Only those who have suffered
will understand the pain of others.
poem by Miriam Jacob
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Dimmer Gets the Light
...and dimmer gets the light.
Dimmer does it get for them...
The ones in debate,
On how to do things right.
Wondering if they select one thing,
Will those on the left,
Choose to fight with anger...
Until all days ahead turn into night!
Conflicts continue.
And those of brightness leave.
They take a hike!
...and dimmer it gets for those who can not see!
Dimmer until it becomes bitter in the dark.
And bitterness is all that descends!
Splitting all into hatred.
Sending a hatred fed to feed until all are dead!
Dead from a truth dieing from a lack of belief.
And the dimming that succeeds leaves all to bleed,
In agreement.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Weep Not For Him That Dieth
I.
WEEP not for him that dieth--
For he sleeps, and is at rest;
And the couch whereon he lieth
Is the green earth's quiet breast:
But weep for him who pineth
On a far land's hateful shore,
Who wearily declineth
Where ye see his face no more!
II.
Weep not for him that dieth,
For friends are round his bed,
And many a young lip sigheth
When they name the early dead;
But weep for him that liveth
Where none will know or care,
When the groan his faint heart giveth
Is the last sigh of despair.
III.
Weep not for him that dieth,
For his struggling soul is free,
And the world from which it flieth
Is a world of misery;
But weep for him that weareth
The captive's galling chain:
To the agony he beareth,
Death were but little pain.
IV.
Weep not for him that dieth,
For he hath ceased from tears,
And a voice to his replieth
Which he hath not heard for years;
But weep for him who weepeth
On that cold land's cruel shore--
Blest, blest is he that sleepeth,--
Weep for the dead no more!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Maud: A Monodrama (Part II, excerpt)
.
O that 'twere possible
.
After long grief and pain
.
To find the arms of my true love
.
Round me once again!2.
When I was wont to meet her
.
In the silent woody places
.
By the home that gave me birth,
.
We stood tranced in long embraces
.
Mixt with kisses sweeter sweeter
.
Than anything on earth.2.
A shadow flits before me,
.
Not thou, but like to thee:
.
Ah Christ, that it were possible
.
For one short hour to see
.
The souls we loved, that they might tell us
.
What and where they be.2.
It leads me forth at evening,
.
It lightly winds and steals
.
In a cold white robe before me,
.
When all my spirit reels
.
At the shouts, the leagues of lights,
.
And the roaring of the wheels.2.
Half the night I waste in sighs,
.
Half in dreams I sorrow after
.
The delight of early skies;
.
In a wakeful doze I sorrow
.
For the hand, the lips, the eyes,
.
For the meeting of the morrow,
.
The delight of happy laughter,
.
The delight of low replies.2.
'Tis a morning pure and sweet,
.
And a dewy splendour falls
.
On the little flower that clings
.
To the turrets and the walls;
.
'Tis a morning pure and sweet,
.
And the light and shadow fleet;
.
She is walking in the meadow,
.
And the woodland echo rings;
.
In a moment we shall meet;
.
She is singing in the meadow,
.
And the rivulet at her feet
.
Ripples on in light and shadow
.
To the ballad that she sings.2.
So I hear her sing as of old,
.
My bird with the shining head,
.
My own dove with the tender eye?
.
But there rings on a sudden a passionate cry,
.
There is some one dying or dead,
.
And a sullen thunder is roll'd;
.
For a tumult shakes the city,
.
And I wake, my dream is fled;
.
In the shuddering dawn, behold,
.
Without knowledge, without pity,
.
By the curtains of my bed
.
That abiding phantom cold.2.
Get thee hence, nor come again,
.
Mix not memory with doubt,
.
Pass, thou deathlike type of pain,
.
Pass and cease to move about!
.
'Tis the blot upon the brain
.
That will show itself without.2.
Then I rise, the eave-drops fall,
.
And the yellow vapours choke
.
The great city sounding wide;
.
The day comes, a dull red ball
.
Wrapt in drifts of lurid smoke
.
On the misty river-tide.2.
Thro' the hubbub of the market
.
I steal, a wasted frame;
.
It crosses here, it crosses there,
.
Thro' all that crowd confused and loud,
.
The shadow still the same;
.
And on my heavy eyelids
.
My anguish hangs like shame.2.
Alas for her that met me,
.
That heard me softly call,
.
Came glimmering thro' the laurels
.
At the quiet evenfall,
.
In the garden by the turrets
.
Of the old manorial hall.2.
Would the happy spirit descend
.
From the realms of light and song,
.
In the chamber or the street,
.
As she looks among the blest,
.
Should I fear to greet my friend
.
Or to say "Forgive the wrong,"
.
Or to ask her, "Take me, sweet,
.
To the regions of thy rest"?2.
But the broad light glares and beats,
.
And the shadow flits and fleets
.
And will not let me be;
.
And I loathe the squares and streets,
.
And the faces that one meets,
.
Hearts with no love for me:
.
Always I long to creep
.
Into some still cavern deep,
.
There to weep, and weep, and weep
.
My whole soul out to thee....
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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My Only Song
Man of Sorrow
Man of Pain
You took it all
Without any gain.
You loved us all
With gentle eyes
Man of Sorrow
Man of Pain
39 plus one
Lashes great fall on your back
A crown of thorns
Pressed down around your head
The blood runs down
and yet you cry
'So many lost;
So many die.'
Man of Sorrow
Man of Pain
Leave it now-
And cry again
Man of sorrow
Man of pain
Your troubled heart
Feels my pain.
Lifted up to die
Bitter gall served fresh
As wine
Yet you'd do it again
For one lost sheep
That beats in the air.
Man of sorrow
Man of pain
When is it enough?
So much grief
You swallow up
Yet you bore it
And demand me live-
Man of sorrow
I humbled myself down.
All glory to you
Man of sorrow
All thrones belong to you
Man of pain
You gave me life and
Even more
I have nothing
But myself to give -
Yet I keep taking it back
Man of Sorrow
Man of Pain.
poem by Charlotte Ballard
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The Noble Spanish Soldier
O, SORROW, SORROW, say where dost thou dwell?
In the lowest room of hell.
Art thou born of human race?
No, no, I have a furier face.
Art thou in city, town, or court?
I to every place resort?
O, why into the world is Sorrow sent?
Men afflicted best repent.
What dost thou feed on?
Broken sleep.
What takest thou pleasure in?
To weep,
To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groan,
To wring my hands, to sit alone.
O when, O when shall Sorrow quiet have?
Never, never, never, never,
Never till she finds a grave.
poem by Thomas Dekker
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Faith and Despondency
The winter wind is loud and wild,
Come close to me, my darling child;
Forsake thy books, and mateless play;
And, while the night is gathering grey,
We'll talk its pensive hours away;--
'Ierne, round our sheltered hall
November's gusts unheeded call;
Not one faint breath can enter here
Enough to wave my daughter's hair,
And I am glad to watch the blaze
Glance from her eyes, with mimic rays;
To feel her cheek so softly pressed,
In happy quiet on my breast.
'But, yet, even this tranquillity
Brings bitter, restless thoughts to me;
And, in the red fire's cheerful glow,
I think of deep glens, blocked with snow;
I dream of moor, and misty hill,
Where evening closes dark and chill;
For, lone, among the mountains cold,
Lie those that I have loved of old.
And my heart aches, in hopeless pain
Exhausted with repinings vain,
That I shall greet them ne'er again!'
'Father, in early infancy,
When you were far beyond the sea,
Such thoughts were tyrants over me!
I often sat, for hours together,
Through the long nights of angry weather,
Raised on my pillow, to descry
The dim moon struggling in the sky;
Or, with strained ear, to catch the shock,
Of rock with wave, and wave with rock;
So would I fearful vigil keep,
And, all for listening, never sleep.
But this world's life has much to dread,
Not so, my Father, with the dead.
'Oh! not for them, should we despair,
The grave is drear, but they are not there;
Their dust is mingled with the sod,
Their happy souls are gone to God!
You told me this, and yet you sigh,
And murmur that your friends must die.
Ah! my dear father, tell me why?
For, if your former words were true,
How useless would such sorrow be;
As wise, to mourn the seed which grew
Unnoticed on its parent tree,
Because it fell in fertile earth,
And sprang up to a glorious birth--
Struck deep its root, and lifted high
Its green boughs, in the breezy sky.
'But, I'll not fear, I will not weep
For those whose bodies rest in sleep,--
I know there is a blessed shore,
Opening its ports for me, and mine;
And, gazing Time's wide waters o'er,
I weary for that land divine,
Where we were born, where you and I
Shall meet our Dearest, when we die;
From suffering and corruption free,
Restored into the Deity.'
'Well hast thou spoken, sweet, trustful child!
And wiser than thy sire;
And worldly tempests, raging wild,
Shall strengthen thy desire--
Thy fervent hope, through storm and foam,
Through wind and ocean's roar,
To reach, at last, the eternal home,
The steadfast, changeless, shore!'
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
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O Mors! Quam Amara Est Memoria Tua Homini Pacem Habenti In Substantiis Suis
Exceeding sorrow
Consumeth my sad heart!
Because to-morrow
We must depart,
Now is exceeding sorrow
All my part!
Give over playing,
Cast thy viol away:
Merely laying
Thine head my way:
Prithee, give over playing,
Grave or gay.
Be no word spoken;
Weep nothing: let a pale
Silence, unbroken
Silence prevail!
Prithee, be no word spoken,
Lest I fail!
Forget to-morrow!
Weep nothing: only lay
In silent sorrow
Thine head my way:
Let us forget to-morrow,
This one day!
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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The Balance
The sting of time dances on
In the night and early morn
Singing of love gained and love lost
We are left to count the cost
Sorrow visits then goes away
Joy awakens a brand new day
When joy dances and sings with you
Sorrow lay asleep waiting for its time to
It is in the balance we stand
Between the two we take their hand
Who can say which is greater
Who holds the scale between now and later
By what infinite measure shall we weigh
The joy and sorrow that visits each day
For both are bound together by love
Pulling at us with the push and the shove
From joy the happiness from sorrow the pain
Making our lives full with the loss and the gain
Within each our growth is found
The larger we grow the smaller the sound
Of joy and sorrow we hear
For they shall mark every year
That we draw breath upon the earth
Showing to each of us what love is worth
poem by Thomas Segel
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The Greatest Plague
Hate consumes the people of the world like a
plague that kills. Turn to hate we do in times
where things are wrong in thine eyes. Try to
justify it by calling it what you like but in
the end it all amounts to hate. Someone attacks
the weak we go after them claiming justice but
we allow the anger to lead us away. Sorrow can
leads us to hate without a soul even realizing
it. So hate has the ulitmate power in this world
that call home. Hate is everything that does not
envelop love or happiness. We allow more hate
than love in this land. You can call it what you
like. Spite anger sorrow loss sadness jealousy
pain. They all lead down the road to hatred.
The paths may go in different ways but all in
in the same place. Being there alone without
a person to stand at your side. Without the
happiness and joys of life. You can say that
sorrow loss and sadness are not hate but when
you think about it your sorrow can turn feeling
sorrow for a person can turn to hurting another
you feel anger towards those who would not help.
Loss you blame someone or something for taking
someone away from you. Perhaps your loss can
change into seeking vengence. Sadness how could
it turn you wander but sadness it self it loss
and sorrow. When sad you are easily swayed by
one of great influence good or bad. Hate has
the power to do more to us than one can ever
think or imagine. For those who do no see it
just turn the pages back in time and all shall
be revealed then. Hate is destroying us swiftly
one day at a time. Hate is the worlds greatest
plague.
poem by Jacob Adams
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Sorrow Plays Through Me
An instrument of sorrow
Sorrow doth strum
The strings of my soul
And beat mine heart her drum
Sorrow weeps through me
And in me she seek
Love, enchantment and expression
So mine eyes leek
Thine tears, thou tears, mine tears
To water the joyous earth
With the sorrow of truth
And to new sorrow give birth
Sorrow, sweet, melancholic
Which adorn mine face with rain falls
Of power, of strength, filled with beauty
Surpassing human walls.
Pouring out of me,
For mine eyes to see
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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In The Solitude Of Prayer
In the solitude of prayer
deep
Lost in moments in between weep
and sleep
In the solitude of prayer
Lonliness finds a rest
Survived another test
Brings out our best
In the solitude of prayer
With nobody there
Except those far away
Reminded of their distant care
In the solitude of prayer
You pray for their smile
For their personal trial
Silently, all the while
In the solitude of prayer
Dreams seem more near
More hope than fear
Thoughts of those past those dear
In the solitude of prayer
Pray for their souls kind
Whose memory is still in your mind
And in your heart
In the solitude of prayer
Pray for your dear friends
Whose heart's you defend
As your own heart they mend
In the solitude of prayer
As for God's wisdom
And his love
As all love comes from above
In the solitude of prayer
Find grace to forgive
And to truely give
And to live
In the solitude of prayer
Recall how to dream
Of warm embraces of affection
And of love returned in your direction
In the solitude of prayer
Pray with conviction
Pray for the impossible
Without fear or restriction
poem by James T. Adair
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Faith and Despondency
'The winter wind is loud and wild,
Come close to me, my darling child;
Forsake thy books, and mateless play;
And, while the night is gathering grey,
We'll talk its pensive hours away;—
'Iernë, round our sheltered hall
November's gusts unheeded call;
Not one faint breath can enter here
Enough to wave my daughter's hair,
And I am glad to watch the blaze
Glance from her eyes, with mimic rays,
To feel her cheek, so softly pressed,
In happy quiet on my breast.
'But, yet, even this tranquillity
Brings bitter, restless thoughts to me;
And, in the red fire's cheerful glow,
I think of deep glens, blocked with snow;
I dream of moor, and misty hill,
Where evening closes dark and chill;
For, lone, among the mountains cold,
Lie those that I have loved of old.
And my heart aches, in hopeless pain,
Exhausted with repinings vain,
That I shall greet them ne'er again!'
'Father, in early infancy,
When you were far beyond the sea,
Such thoughts were tyrants over me!
I often sat, for hours together,
Through the long nights of angry weather,
Raised on my pillow, to descry
The dim moon struggling in the sky;
Or, with strained ear, to catch the shock,
Of rock with wave, and wave with rock;
So would I fearful vigil keep,
And, all for listening, never sleep.
But this world's life has much to dread,
Not so, my Father, with the dead.
'Oh! not for them, should we despair,
The grave is drear, but they are not there:
Their dust is mingled with the sod,
Their happy souls are gone to God!
You told me this, and yet you sigh,
And murmur that your friends must die.
Ah! my dear father, tell me why?
For, if your former words were true,
How useless would such sorrow be;
As wise, to mourn the seed which grew
Unnoticed on its parent tree,
Because it fell in fertile earth,
And sprang up to a glorious birth—
Struck deep its root, and lifted high
Its green boughs in the breezy sky.
'But, I'll not fear, I will not weep
For those whose bodies rest in sleep,—
I know there is a blessed shore,
Opening its ports for me and mine;
And, gazing Time's wide waters o'er,
I weary for that land divine,
Where we were born, where you and I
Shall meet our dearest, when we die;
From suffering and corruption free,
Restored into the Deity.'
'Well hast thou spoken, sweet, trustful child!
And wiser than thy sire;
And worldly tempests, raging wild,
Shall strengthen thy desire—
Thy fervent hope, through storm and foam,
Through wind and ocean's roar,
To reach, at last, the eternal home,
The steadfast, changeless shore!'
poem by Emily Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Tout Pour L'Amour
The world may rage without,
Quiet is here;
Statesmen may toil and shout,
Cynics may sneer;
The great world,--let it go,--
June warmth be March's snow,
I care not,--be it so
Since I am here.
Time was when war's alarm
Called for a fear,
When sorrow's seeming harm
Hastened a tear.
Naught care I now what foe
Threatens, for scarce I know
How the year's seasons go
Since I am here.
This is my resting-place
Holy and dear,
Where pain's dejected face
May not appear;
This is the world to me,
Earth's woes I will not see,
But rest contentedly
Since I am here.
Is't your voice chiding, Love,
My mild career,
My meek abiding, Love,
Daily so near?--
'Danger and loss,' to me?
Ah, Sweet, I fear to see
No loss but loss of _thee_,
And I am here.
poem by Sophie Margaret Hensley
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