Topic: Grave

A Brown Girl Dead

With two white roses on her breasts, White candles at head and feet, Dark Madonna of the grave she rests; Lord Death has found her sweet.Her mother pawned her wedding ring To lay her out in white; She'd be so proud she'd dance and sing to see herself tonight.Countee Cullen...

By Countee Cullen
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29 December

Flowers, Dear Flowers, Farewell!

'We are sending you, dear flowers, Forth alone to die, Where your gentle sisters may not weep O'er the cold graves where you lie; But you go to bring them fadeless life In the bright homes where they dwell, And you softly smile that 't is so, As we sadly sing farewell.O...

By Louisa May Alcott
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26 December

In Flanders Field

In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now...

By John McCrae
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18 December

An Inscription

A conqueror as provident as brave, He robbed the cradle to supply the grave. His reign laid quantities of human dust: He fell upon the just and the unjust.Ambrose Bierce...

By Ambrose Bierce
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16 December

Anna Who Was Mad

Anna who was mad, I have a knife in my armpit. When I stand on tiptoe I tap out messages. Am I some sort of infection? Did I make you go insane? Did I make the sounds go sour? Did I tell you to climb out the window? Forgive. Forgive. Say not I...

By Anne Sexton
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03 December

Cloistered

To-night the little girl-nun died. Her hands were laid Across her breast; the last sun tried To kiss her quiet braid; And where the little river cried, Her grave was made.The little girl-nun’s soul, in awe, Went silently To where her brother Christ she saw, Under the Living Tree; He sighed, and his face...

By Mary Carolyn Davies
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17 November

Her Epitaph

The handful here, that once was Mary's earth, Held, while it breathed, so beautiful a soul, That, when she died, all recognized her birth, And had their sorrow in serene control."Not here! not here!" to every mourner's heart The wintry wind seemed whispering round her bier; And when the tomb-door...

By Thomas William Parsons
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21 October

The Soldier

If I should die, think only this of me: That there’s some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to...

By Rupert Brooke
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08 October

Dirge

We do lie beneath the grass In the moonlight, in the shade Of the yew-tree. They that pass Hear us not. We are afraid They would envy our delight, In our graves by glow-worm night. Come follow us, and smile as we; We sail to the rock...

By Thomas Lovell Beddoes
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01 January