Poems on the topic: death

Poems on the topic “death” on Poets.by.

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Emily Dickinson

And this of all my Hopes

And this of all my Hopes This, is the silent end Bountiful colored, my Morning rose Early and sere, its end Never Bud from a Stem Stepped with so gay a Foot Never a Worm so confident Bored at so brave a Root

Emily Dickinson

We dream -- it is good we are dreaming --

We dream -- it is good we are dreaming -- It would hurt us -- were we awake -- But since it is playing -- kill us, And we are playing -- shriek -- What harm? Men die -- externally -- It is a truth -- of Blood -- But we -- are dying in Drama -- And Drama -- is never dead -- Cautious -- We jar each other -- And either -- open the eyes -- Lest the Phantasm -- prove the Mistake -- And the livid Surprise Cool us to Shafts of Granite -- With just an Age -- and Name -- And perhaps a phrase in Egyptian -- It's prudenter -- to dream --

Emily Dickinson

'Twas a long Parting -- but the time

'Twas a long Parting -- but the time For Interview -- had Come -- Before the Judgment Seat of God -- The last -- and second time These Fleshless Lovers met -- A Heaven in a Gaze -- A Heaven of Heavens -- the Privilege Of one another's Eyes -- No Lifetime -- on Them -- Appareled as the new Unborn -- except They had beheld -- Born infiniter -- now -- Was Bridal -- e'er like This? A Paradise -- the Host -- And Cherubim -- and Seraphim -- The unobtrusive Guest --

Emily Dickinson

The inundation of the Spring

The inundation of the Spring Enlarges every soul -- It sweeps the tenement away But leaves the Water whole -- In which the soul at first estranged -- Seeks faintly for its shore But acclimated -- pines no more For that Peninsula --

Emily Dickinson

I noticed People disappeared

I noticed People disappeared When but a little child -- Supposed they visited remote Or settled Regions wild -- But did because they died A Fact withheld the little child --

Emily Dickinson

A full fed Rose on meals of Tint

A full fed Rose on meals of Tint A Dinner for a Bee In process of the Noon became - Each bright Mortality The Forfeit is of Creature fair Itself, adored before Submitting for our unknown sake To be esteemed no more --

Emily Dickinson

Nature can do no more

Nature can do no more She has fulfilled her Dyes Whatever Flower fail to come Of other Summer days Her crescent reimburse If other Summers be Nature's imposing negative Nulls opportunity --

Emily Dickinson

Her Sweet turn to leave the Homestead

Her Sweet turn to leave the Homestead Came the Darker Way -- Carriages -- Be Sure -- and Guests -- too -- But for Holiday 'Tis more pitiful Endeavor Than did Loaded Sea O'er the Curls attempt to caper It had cast away -- Never Bride had such Assembling -- Never kinsmen kneeled To salute so fair a Forehead -- Garland be indeed -- Fitter Feet -- of Her before us -- Than whatever Brow Art of Snow -- or Trick of Lily Possibly bestow

Emily Dickinson

Than Heaven more remote,

Than Heaven more remote, For Heaven is the root, But these the flitted seed. More flown indeed Than ones that never were, Or those that hide, and are. What madness, by their side, A vision to provide Of future days They cannot praise. My soul, to find them, come, They cannot call, they're dumb, Nor prove, nor woo, But that they have abode Is absolute as God, And instant, too.

Emily Dickinson

The Notice that is called the Spring

The Notice that is called the Spring Is but a month from here -- Put up my Heart thy Hoary work And take a Rosy Chair. Not any House the Flowers keep -- The Birds enamor Care -- Our salary the longest Day Is nothing but a Bier.

Emily Dickinson

Those fair -- fictitious People

Those fair -- fictitious People -- The Women -- plucked away From our familiar Lifetime -- The Men of Ivory -- Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas -- Who stay upon the Wall In Everlasting Keepsake -- Can Anybody tell? We trust -- in places perfecter -- Inheriting Delight Beyond our faint Conjecture -- Our dizzy Estimate -- Remembering ourselves, we trust -- Yet Blesseder -- than We -- Through Knowing -- where We only hope -- Receiving -- where we -- pray --

Emily Dickinson

Tie the Strings to my Life, My Lord,

Tie the Strings to my Life, My Lord, Then, I am ready to go! Just a look at the Horses -- Rapid! That will do! Put me in on the firmest side -- So I shall never fall -- For we must ride to the Judgment -- And it's partly, down Hill -- But never I mind the steeper -- And never I mind the Sea -- Held fast in Everlasting Race -- By my own Choice, and Thee -- Goodbye to the Life I used to live -- And the World I used to know -- And kiss the Hills, for me, just once -- Then -- I am ready to go!

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