Our death is needed by the boundless nature all around and is craved by the purple mouths of flowers.
A day of seeming innocence,
A glorious sun and sky,
That night when through the mooring-chains
The wide-eyed corpse rolled free,
How much death works,
No one knows what a long
Mañana, como un monte que derrumba De noche y en sigilo su eminencia,—
Shipmates o' mine, are you sleeping fair an' sound,
Mates fair an' foul, friend an' foe,
Between the dark and the day, To the King's room where he lay
O God, take the sun from the sky!
It's burning me, scorching me up.
There came a knight to the river-side —
Ah, Rosalie!
Eyes look into the well,
Tears run down from the eye;
Here a pretty baby lies
Sung asleep with lullabies;
Death stands above me, whispering low
I know not what into my ear:
In midst of life we are in death;
And breathing brings to loss of breath;
Now ‘neath the cool stars
I know thee more.
And now that you are dead, - If I should die
Upon this ground,
Oh Death, how placid is thy sleep!
The seal of a long dreamless rest;
We couldn't make him out; he seldom spoke;
We never caught him smiling at a joke —
What task is this that so unnerves me now?
When pity should be dead, and has been dead.
Not human speech nor human wail can tell
The grief of heart for one beloved so well:
Hail and farewell to those who fought and died,
Not laughingly adventurous, nor pale
If ever you've heard it ringing, wild from the mast and clear,
If you've seen the watches running, their faces blanched with fear,
The old men used to sing
And lifted a brother
(Richard Hooker)
Man pays the debt with new munificence,
It is not often Sunday draws
Me to that house where good men come;
Friend? hope for the Guest while you are alive.
Jump into experience while you are alive!
The stairs mount to his eternity
the rotted floor, the dripping faucet
I sat with you in a back pew when
your father died; for you, stared at so long,
The rank stench of those bodies haunts me still
And I remember things I'd best forget.
'Twas what ye'd call a nasty night,
An' 'twa''t no time to pick a fight,
Her spirit hiding among skin and bones
In willingness and wariness waits death
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