Quotes
Quotes about Death
Death
Grinn'd horrible a ghastly smile, to hear
His famine should be fill'd.
And over them triumphant Death his dart
Shook, but delay'd to strike, though oft invok'd.
Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail
Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt,
Dispraise, or blame,--nothing but well and fair,
And what may quiet us in a death so noble.
I was all ear,
And took in strains that might create a soul
Under the ribs of death.
Dear, beauteous death, the jewel of the just!
Shining nowhere but in the dark;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
Could man outlook that mark!
So softly death succeeded life in her,
She did but dream of heaven, and she was there.
Death in itself is nothing; but we fear
To be we know not what, we know not where.
My voice is still for war.
Gods! can a Roman senate long debate
Which of the two to choose, slavery or death?
I 'm weary of conjectures,--this must end 'em.
Thus am I doubly armed: my death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me:
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds.
And what its worth, ask death-beds; they can tell.
Time flies, death urges, knells call, Heaven invites,
Hell threatens.
A death-bed's a detector of the heart.
Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay;
And if in death still lovely, lovelier there;
Far lovelier! pity swells the tide of love.
Man makes a death which Nature never made.
And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.
We see time's furrows on another's brow,
And death intrench'd, preparing his assault;
How few themselves in that just mirror see!
While man is growing, life is in decrease;
And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb.
Our birth is nothing but our death begun.
Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.
Who combats bravely is not therefore brave,
He dreads a death-bed like the meanest slave:
Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise,--
His pride in reasoning, not in acting lies.
And you, brave Cobham! to the latest breath
Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death.
Fired that the house rejects him, "'Sdeath! I 'll print it,
And shame the fools."
Me let the tender office long engage
To rock the cradle of reposing age;
With lenient arts extend a mother's breath,
Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death;
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,
And keep awhile one parent from the sky.
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O grave! where is thy victory?
O death! where is thy sting?
Such were the notes thy once lov'd poet sung,
Till death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue.
