i curse my stars in bitter grief and woe

When that which drew from out the boundless deepįor tho’ from out our bourne of Time and PlaceĪh broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever! When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose. I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters. Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life, Heads of the characters hammer through daisies īreak in the sun till the sun breaks down,įrom my mother’s sleep I fell into the State,Īnd I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.

Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone, With the man in the wind and the west moon The years to come seemed waste of breath, Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sightīlind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,Īnd you, my father, there on the sad height,Ĭurse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,Īnd learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Though wise men at their end know dark is right,īecause their words had forked no lightning they Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Old age should burn and rave at close of day We passed the School, where Children strove Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,Īnd dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,Īnd poppy or charms can make us sleep as wellĪnd better than thy stroke why swell’st thou then?Īnd death shall be no more Death, thou shalt die. Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery. Much pleasure then from thee much more must flow,Īnd soonest our best men with thee do go, Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so įor those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrowĭie not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.įrom rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Death Be Not Proudĭeath, be not proud, though some have called thee They also share their insights into how we should remember our loved ones after they are gone. These famous poems about death reflect the poet’s unique thoughts and feelings about what happens to us after we die. You may be familiar with some of these iconic death poem written by the greatest poets of all time.

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I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe