Стихи и рассказы из категории dead

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Coronavirus Poem Second Wave
Our lives have changed
Like never before I can't hug
Or kiss my beautiful mother like before
Coronavirus Poem Second Wave
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"On board the Petrel, in St
Lucia's bay,
Of yellow fever—aged twenty-nine
" "Who did you say, my lady
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If suddenly you do not exist,if suddenly you no longer live,
I shall live on
I do not dare,
I do not dare to write it,if you die
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The plunging limbers over the shattered track Racketed with their rusty freight, Stuck out like many crowns of thorns, And the rusty stakes like sceptres old To stay the flood of brutish men Upon our brothers dear
The wheels lurched over spra...
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The old guy put down his beer
Son, he said,      (and a girl came over to the table where we were:      asked us by Jack Christ to buy her a drink
)  Son,
I am going to tell you something  The like of which nobody was ever told
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Each afternoon in Granada,each afternoon, a child dies
Each afternoon the water sits downand chats with its companions
The dead wear mossy wings
The cloudy wind and the clear windare two pheasants in flight through the towers,and th...
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Thy soul shall find itself alone'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tombstone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to
Into thine hour of secrecy
Be silent in that solitude,
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The young dead soldiers do not speak
Nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses: who has not heard them
They have a silence that speaks for them at night and when the clock counts
They say:
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Amid earth's vagrant noises, he caught the note sublime:
To-day around him surges from the silences of TimeA flood of nobler music, like a river deep and broad,
Fit song for heroes gathered in the banquet-hall of God
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The Tsubaki flower, quietly blooming.
It’s colorful buds peeking from the Earth,
Having no voice as it looks to the sun.
The Tsubaki flower, quietly blooming.
Quietly Blooms
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I see that wreath which doth the wearer arm 'Gainst the quick strokes of thunder, is no charm To keep off deaths pale dart
For,
Johnson then Thou hadst been number'd still with living men
Times sithe had fear'd thy Lawrel to invade,
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AN
GY
Addressed to a Lady, who was affected at seeing
Funeral of a nameless Pauper, buried at the ex-pense of the Parish, in the Church-Yard at Bright-helmstone, in November 1792
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They sucked us in;
King and country,
Christ
And the rest
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I dreamed of him last night,
I saw his face All radiant and unshadowed of distress,
And as of old, in music measureless,
I heard his golden voice and marked him trace Under the common thing the hidden grace,
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A blackbird singing On a moss-upholstered stone,
Bluebells swinging,
Shadows wildly blown,
A song in the wood,
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The dark is thrown Back from the brightness, like hair Cast over a shoulder
I am alone,
Four years older;
Like the chairs and the walls Which I once watched brighten With you beside me
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