William Gay Death Poems

  • 1.
    I love not when the oily seas
    Heave huge and slow beneath the sun,
    When decks are hot, and dead the breeze,
    And wits are dropping one by one.
    ...
  • 2.
    Nay! sing no more thy wild delusive strain
    (I heard them say, while I my song pursued),
    'Tis but the rage of thy delirious brain
    (I heard them say, yet still my song renewed):
    ...
  • 3.
    Bartholemew Jones made his money in mines,
    And although he has left us his fame still shines
    As a man who was knowing in various lines.
    It wasn't his line to write or to spell,
    ...
  • 4.
    As dropping moisture on December flowers,
    As sunlight breaking o'er the August plain,
    As shines the Virgin on the midnight hours,
    So is thy presence at the bed of pain;
    ...
  • 5.
    Come forth, O Man, from darkness into light,
    Renounce the dust, break through thy sordid bars,
    For ever leave the crawling shapes of Night,
    And move erect among thy native stars:
    ...
  • 6.
    IF in the summer of thy bright regard
    For one brief season these poor Rhymes shall live
    I ask no more, nor think my fate too hard
    If other eyes but wintry looks should give;
    ...
  • 7.
    HOW long, O Lord, shall this, my country, be
    A nation of the dead? How long shall they
    Who seek their own and live but for the day,
    My country hinder from her destiny?
    ...
  • 8.
    Hail foes to oppression, and lovers of freedom!
    Your day has arrived, and your power you know:-
    This host of timeservers, I'm sure we don't need them,
    And we'll never support them! O! no, my friends, no!
    ...
Total 8 Death Poems by William Gay

Top 10 most used topics by William Gay

Death 8 Life 8 Long 8 Soul 7 Sea 7 Heart 6 Light 6 Rise 6 Fate 5 Good 5

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Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
...

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