John Wilbye Death Poems

  • 1.
    And though my love abounding,
    Did make me fall a sounding,
    Yet am I well contented,
    Still so to be tormented,
    ...
  • 2.
    Unkind, O, stay thy flying!
    And if I needs must die, pity me dying.
    But in thee, my heart is lying
    And no death can assail me,
    ...
  • 3.
    O, what shall I do, or whither shall I turn me?
    Shall I make unto her eyes? O, no, they'll burn me!
    Shall I seal up my eyes and speak my part?
    Then in a flood of tears I drown my heart,
    ...
  • 4.
    Ah! cruel Amarillis, since thou takâ??st delight
    To hear the accents of a doleful ditty,
    To triumph still without remorse or pity;
    I loathe this life,death must my sorrow right;
    ...
  • 5.
    Long have I made these hills and valleys weary,
    With noise of these my shrieks and cries that fill the air;
    She only, who should make me merry,
    Hears not my prayer:
    ...
  • 6.
    Ah! cannot sighs not tears, nor aught else move thee
    To pity me, who more than life do love thee?
    O cruel fates! see, now away sheâ??s flying,
    And fly, alas! alas! and leave me dying.
    ...
  • 7.
    Ye that do live in pleasures plenty,
    and dwell in Music's sweetest Airs,
    whose eyes are quick, whose ears are dainty,
    not clogg'd with earth or worldly cares,
    ...
  • 8.
    When shall my wretched life give place to death?
    That my sad cares may be enforcâ??d to leave me.
    Come, saddest shadow, stop my vital breath,
    For I am thine, then let not care bereave thee
    ...
  • 9.
    Alas! What a wretched life is this!
    Nay what a death! Where tyrant Love commandeth!
    My flowâ??ring days are in their prime declining,
    All my proud hope quite fallâ??n, and life untwining,
    ...
Total 9 Death Poems by John Wilbye

Top 10 most used topics by John Wilbye

Love 30 I Love You 30 Heart 20 Sweet 20 Life 15 Never 10 Death 9 Beauty 8 Hope 8 Grief 6

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Why Do I Love?
 by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Why do I love?
Is it for men to choose
The hour of the hushed night when crowned with dews
From its sea grave the morning star shall wake?
Lo, while we drowsed, it rose on our heart's ache,
And all our heaven was red with the day's hues,
And glad birds chaunted from the trees above.
So was it with my heart that might not choose
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