Popular Poems for Funerals
“Remember” – Christina RossettiRemember me when I am gone away,Gone far away into the silent land;When you can no more hold me by the hand,Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.Remember me when no more day by dayYou tell me of our future that you planned:Only remember me; you understandIt will be late to counsel then or pray.Yet if you should forget me for a whileAnd afterwards remember, do not grieve:For if the darkness and corruption leaveA vestige of the thoughts that once I had,Better by far you should forget and smileThan that you should remember and be sad.
“Holy Sonnets: Death, be not proud” – John DonneDeath, be not proud, though some have called theeMighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,And soonest our best men with thee do go,Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy or charms can make us sleep as wellAnd better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?One short sleep past, we wake eternallyAnd death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
“Requiem” – Robert Louis StevensonUnder the wide and starry skyDig the grave and let me lie:Glad did I live and gladly die,And I laid me down with a will.This be the verse you 'grave for me:Here he lies where he long'd to be;Home is the sailor, home from the sea,And the hunter home from the hill.
“Nothing Gold Can Stay” – Robert FrostNature’s first green is gold,Her hardest hue to hold.Her early leaf’s a flower;But only so an hour.Then leaf subsides to leaf.So Eden sank to grief,So dawn goes down to day.Nothing gold can stay.
“Warm Summer Sun” – Mark TwainWarm summer sun,Shine kindly here,Warm southern wind, Blow softly here.Green sod above, Lie light, lie light.Good night, dear heart,Good night, good night.
“The Chariot” – Emily DickinsonBecause I could not stop for Death,He kindly stopped for me;The carriage held but just ourselvesAnd Immortality.We slowly drove, he knew no haste,And I had put awayMy labor, and my leisure too,For his civility.We passed the school where children played,Their lessons scarcely done;We passed the fields of gazing grain,We passed the setting sun.We paused before a house that seemedA swelling of the ground;The roof was scarcely visible,The cornice but a mound.Since then 't is centuries; but eachFeels shorter than the dayI first surmised the horses' headsWere toward eternity.
“Poem” – Langston HughesI loved my friend. He went away from me.There’s nothing more to say.The poem ends,Soft as it began,—I loved my friend.
Funny Funeral Poems
“Condolence” – Dorothy ParkerThey hurried here, as soon as you had died,Their faces damp with haste and sympathy,And pressed my hand in theirs, and smoothed my knee,And clicked their tongues, and watched me, mournful-eyed.Gently they told me of that Other Side—How, even then, you waited there for me,And what ecstatic meeting ours would be.Moved by the lovely tale, they broke, and cried.And when I smiled, they told me I was brave,And they rejoiced that I was comforted,And left, to tell of all the help they gave.But I had smiled to think how you, the dead,So curiously preoccupied and grave,Would laugh, could you have heard the things they said.
“Sport” – Langston HughesLifeFor himMust beThe shivering ofA great drumBeaten with swift sticksThen at the closing hourThe lights go outAnd there is no music at allAnd death becomesAn empty cabaretAnd eternity an unblown saxophoneAnd yesterdayA glass of ginDrunk longAgo
“The Dark Cavalier” – Margaret WiddemerI am the Dark Cavalier; I am the Last Lover:My arms shall welcome you when other arms are tired;I stand to wait for you, patient in the darkness,Offering forgetfulness of all that you desired.I ask no merriment, no pretense of gladness,I can love heavy lids and lips without their rose;Though you are sorrowful you will not weary me;I will not go from you when all the tired world goes.I am the Dark Cavalier; I am the Last Lover;I promise faithfulness no other lips may keep;Safe in my bridal place, comforted by darkness,You shall lie happily, smiling in your sleep.
“Challenge” – Sterling A. BrownI said, in drunken pride of youth and youThat mischief-making Time would never darePlay his ill-humored tricks upon us two,Strange and defiant lovers that we were.I said that even Death, Highwayman Death,Could never master lovers such as we,That even when his clutch had throttled breath,My hymns would float in praise, undauntedly.I did not think such words were bravado.Oh, I think honestly we knew no fear,We loved each other so.And thus, with you believing me, I madeMy prophecies, rebellious, unafraid . . . .And that was foolish, wasn’t it, my dear?
“Cavalier” – Bruce NugentSlay fowl and beast; pluck clean the vine,Prepare the feast and pearl the wine.Bring on the best! Bring on the bard,Bring on the rest. Let nought retardNor yet distress with putrid breath,My new mistress, My Lady Death.
“Testament” – Dorothy ParkerOh, let it be a night of lyric rainAnd singing breezes, when my bell is tolled.I have so loved the rain that I would holdLast in my ears its friendly, dim refrain.I shall lie cool and quiet, who have lainFevered, and watched the book of day unfold.Death will not see my flinch; the heart is boldThat pain has made incapable of pain.Kinder the busy worms than ever love;It will be peace to lie there, empty-eyed,My bed made secret by the leveling showers,My breast replenishing the weeds above.And you will say of me, “Then has she died?Perhaps I should have sent a spray of flowers.”
“All the Dead” – Countee CullenPriest and layman, virgin, strumpet,Good and ill commingled sleep,Waiting till the dreadful trumpetSeparates the wolves and sheep.
“Humdrum” – Carl SandburgIf I had a million lives to liveand a million deaths to diein a million humdrum worlds,I’d like to change my nameand have a new house number to go byeach and every time I diedand started life all over again.I wouldn’t want the same name every timeand the same old house number always,dying a million deaths,dying one by one a million times:—would you?or you?or you?
“I Shall Come Back” – Dorothy ParkerI shall come back without fanfaronadeOf wailing wind and graveyard panoply;But, trembling, slip from cool Eternity—A mild and most bewildered little shade.I shall not make sepulchral midnight raid, But softly come where I had longed to beIn April twilight’s unsung melody, And I, not you, shall be the one afraid.Strange, that from lovely dreamings of the deadI shall come back to you, who hurt me most.You may not feel my hand upon your head,I’ll be so new and inexpert a ghost.Perhaps you will not know that I am near,—And that will break my ghostly heart, my dear.
Short Memorial Poems
“Requiem” – John F. MatheusShe wears, my beloved, a rose upon her head.Walk softly angels, lest your gentle treadAwake her to the turmoil and the strife,The dissonance and hates called life.She sleeps, my beloved, a rose upon her head.Who says she will not hear, that she is dead?The rose will fade and lose its lovely hue,But not, my beloved, will fading wither you.
“A Triviality” – Waring CuneyNot to dance with herWas such a trivial thingThere were girls more fair than she,––To-dayTen girls dressed in white.Each had a white rose wreath.They made a dead man’s archAnd ten strong menCarried a body through.Not to dance with herWas a trivial thing.
“Rose Song” – Anne Reeve AldrichPlant, above my lifeless heartCrimson roses, red as blood.As if the love, pent there so longWere pouring forth its flood.Then, through them, my heart may tell,Its Past of Love and Grief,And I shall feel them grow from it,And know a vague relief.Through rotting shroud shall feel their roots,And unto them myself shall grow,And when I blossom at her feet,She, on that day, shall know!
“Fantasy in Purple” – Langston HughesBeat the drums of tragedy for me.Beat the drums of tragedy and death.And let the choir sing a stormy songTo drown the rattle of my dying breath.Beat the drums of tragedy for me,And let the white violins whir thin and slow,But blow one blaring trumpet note of sunTo go with meto the darknesswhere I go.
“Music when Soft Voices Die (To–)” – Percy Bysshe ShelleyMusic, when soft voices die,Vibrates in the memory—Odours, when sweet violets sicken,Live within the sense they quicken.Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,Are heaped for the belovèd's bed;And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,Love itself shall slumber on.
“When At Your Heart Should Be Sad” – Sir Walter RaleighWhen at heart you should be sad,Pondering the joys we had,Listen and keep very still.If the lowing from the hillOr the toiling of a bellDo not serve to break the spell,Listen: you may be allowedTo hear my laughter from a cloud.
“Intimations of Immortality” – William WordsworthWhat though the radiance which was once so brightBe now forever taken from my sight,Though nothing can bring back the hourOf splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;We will grieve not, rather findStrength in what remains behind.
“Invocation” – Helene JohnsonLet me be buried in the rainIn a deep, dripping wood,Under the warm wet breast of EarthWhere once a gnarled tree stood.And paint a picture on my tombWith dirt and a piece of boughOf a girl and a boy beneath a round, ripe moonEating of love with an eager spoonAnd vowing an eager vow.And do not keep my plot mowed smoothAnd clean as a spinster’s bed,But let the weed, the flower, the tree,Riotous, rampant, wild and free,Grow high above my head.
“For Myself” – Countee CullenWhat’s in this grave is worth your tear;There's more than the eye can see;Folly and Pride and Love lie hereBuried alive with me.
“Coda” – Ezra PoundO my songs,Why do you look so eagerly and so curiously into people's faces,Will you find your lost dead among them?
Non-Religious Poems for Funerals
“Loss” – Winifred M. LettsIn losing you I lost my sun and moonAnd all the stars that blessed my lonely night.I lost the hope of Spring, the joy of June,The Autumn’s peace, the Winter’s firelight.I lost the zest of living, the sweet senseExpectant of your step, your smile, your kiss;I lost all hope and fear and keen suspenseFor this cold calm, sans agony, sans bliss.I lost the rainbow’s gold, the silver keyThat gave me freedom of my town of dreams;I lost the path that leads to FaërieBy beechen glades and heron-haunted streams.I lost the master word, dear love, the clueThat threads the maze of life when I lost you.
“The Shadow on the Stone” – Thomas HardyI went by the Druid stoneThat stands in the garden white and lone,And I stopped and looked at the shifting shadowsThat at some moments there are thrownFrom the tree hard by with a rhythmic swing,And they shaped in my imaginingTo the shade that a well-known head and shouldersThrew there when she was gardening.I thought her behind my back,Yea, her I long had learned to lack,And I said: “I am sure you are standing behind me,Though how do you get into this old track?”And there was no sound but the fall of a leafAs a sad response; and to keep down griefI would not turn my head to discoverThat there was nothing in my belief.Yet I wanted to look and seeThat nobody stood at the back of me;But I thought once more: “Nay, I’ll not unvisionA shape which, somehow, there may be.”So I went on softly from the glade,And left her behind me throwing her shade, As she were indeed an apparition—My head unturned lest my dream should fade.
“To Jake” – Eunice TietjensYou are turned wraith. Your supple, flitting hands,As formless as the night wind’s moan,Beckon across the years, and your heart’s painFades surely as a stainèd stone.And yet you will not let me rest, cryingAnd calling down the night to meA thing that when your body moved and glowed,Living, you could not make me see.Lean down your homely, mist-encircled headClose, close above my human ear,And tell me what of pain among the dead—Tell me, and I will try to hear.
“After” – Leonora SpeyerI will not walk in the wood to-night,I will not stand by the water’s edgeAnd see day lie on the dusk’s bright ledgeUntil it turn, a star at its breast,To rest.I will not see the wide-flung hillsClosing darkly about my grief,I wore a crown of their lightest leaf,But now they press like a cold, blue ring,Imprisoning.I dare not meet that caroling blade,Jauntily drawn in the sunset pine,Stabbing me with its thrust divine,Knowing my naked, aching need,Till I bleed.Sheathe your song, invincible bird,Strike not at me with that flashing note,Have pity, have pity, persistent throat,Deliver me not to your dread delightTo-night!I am afraid of the creeping wood,I am afraid of the furtive trees,Hiding behind them, memories,Ready to spring, to clutch, to tear,Wait for me there.
“Out of the Rolling Ocean the Crowd” – Walt WhitmanOut of the rolling ocean, the crowd, came a drop gently to me,Whispering I love you, before long I die,I have travel'd a long way, merely to look on you to touch you,For I could not die till I once look'd on you,For I fear'd I might afterward lose you.Now we have met, we have look'd, we are safe,Return in peace to the ocean my love,I too am part of that ocean, my love, we are not so much separated,Behold the great rondure, the cohesion of all, how perfect!But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us,As for an hour carrying us diverse, yet cannot carry us diverse forever;Be not impatient—a little space—know you I salute the air, the ocean and the land,Every day at sundown for your dear sake my love.
“After great pain a formal feeling comes — (175)” – Emily DickinsonAfter great pain a formal feeling comes —The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;The stiff Heart questions — was it He that bore?And yesterday — or centuries before?The feet mechanical go roundA wooden wayOf ground or air or Ought,Regardless grown,A quartz contentment like a stone.This is the hour of leadRemembered if outlivedAs freezing persons recollectThe snow —First chill, then stupor, thenThe letting go.
“From ‘Spanish Folk Songs’” – Salvador de MadariagaIIOf the dust of the earthCan I make songs.One is scarcely over,A new one comes.Del polvo de la tierraSaco yo coplas.No bien se acaba unaYa tengo otra.LVLike two trees we areBy fate separated.The road is betweenBut the boughs are mated.Como dos árboles somosQue la suerte nos separa,Con un camino por medio,Pero se juntan las ramas.CIII see myself as a crow.All are wearing clothes of gladness,Clothed in black mourning I go.Me comparo con el cuervo.Todos visten de alegría,Yo visto de luto negro.
“The Heart Recalcitrant” – Leonora SpeyerDoes the heart grieve on,After its grief is goneLike a slow ship movingAcross its own oblivion?Heart! Heart! Do you not knowThat I have conquered pain,Have parted from my woe?That my proud feet have found their path again,After the pathless heights-long after-And that my hands have learned to blessTheir overflowing emptiness,My lips grown reconciled to laughter?O laggard of dead roads,O heart that will not heal nor breakNor yet forget!Tell me, whose tears are theseThat greet me as I wake?Why is my pillow wet?Red rebel, is it youThat lifted this wild dewLike banners from my arid dreams,That roused this emberFrom exiled ashes,Calling me to remember?Speak, is it you that weptUpon my pillow while I slept?Does the heart then grieve on,After its grief is gone,A treasure ship that journeysAcross its own oblivion?
“Earth’s Night” – Max EastmanSombre,Sombre is the night, the stars’ light is dimmedWith smoky exhalations of the earth,Whose ancient voice is lifted on the windIn ceaseless elegies and songs of tears.O earth, I hear thee mourning for thy dead!Thou art waving the long grass over thy graves;Murmuring over all thy resting children,That have run and wandered and gone downUpon thy bosom. Thou wilt mourn for himWho looketh now a moment on these stars,And in the moving boughs of this dark nightHeareth the murmurous sorrow of thy heart.
Spiritual Poems for Funerals
“Another Leaf Has Fallen” – UnknownAnother leaf has fallen,another soul has gone.But still we have God’s promises,in every robin’s song.For he is in His heaven,and though He takes away,He always leaves to mortals,the bright sun’s kindly ray.He leaves the fragrant blossoms,and lovely forest, green.And gives us new found comfort,when we on Him will lean.
“Saying Goodbye” – Grace Noll CrowellAs this day of sorrow comes,tears in our eyes, loneliness in our hearts,we say goodbye.Thank You for sharing your life with us,without you, we will not knowthe love of God for us.For you are a blessing in our eyes.We thank the Lord for sharing you with us.He has given us a great gift that we will never forget.Even as the sun sets and the rain falls down.God is indeed amazing, for knowing who we need.
“Prayer of Saint Francis” – UnknownThe Lord bless youand keep you.May He show His faceto you and have mercy.May He turn His countenanceto you and give you peace.The Lord bless you!
“How Did They Live?” – UnknownNot, how did they die, but how did they live?Not, what did they gain, but what did they give?These are the units to measure the worthOf a person as a person, regardless of birth.Not, what was their church, nor what was their creed?But had they befriended those really in need?Were they ever ready, with a word of good cheer,To bring back a smile, to banish a tear?Not, what did the sketch in the newspaper say,But how many were sorry when they passed away?
“Not Dead, but Sleeping” – Clara Ann ThompsonWe say he is dead; ah, the word is too somber;’Tis the touch of God, on the weary eyes,That has caused them to close, in peaceful slumber,To open with joy, in the upper skies.We say he is gone; we have lost him forever;His face and his form we will cherish no more;While happy and safe, just over the river,He is waiting for us, where partings are o’er.Ah, sad are our hearts, as we gaze on him sleeping,And bitter and sad are the tears gushing down;And yet,— but we cannot see, for the weeping,—He has only exchanged the cross, for the crown.And though the dark mists of grief may surround us,Obscuring the face of the Father above,And blindly we grope, still His arms are around us,To guide and sustain with His pitying love.And he whom we love, is safe in His keeping,Yes, safe and secure, whatever may come;But ne’er will we know how sweetly he’s sleeping.Till God, in His mercy, shall gather us home.
“Epitaph on my own Friend” – Robert BurnsAn honest man here lies at rest,As e’er God with His image blest:The friend of man, the friend of truth;The friend of age, and guide of youth:Few hearts like his, with virtue warm’d,Few heads with knowledge so inform’d:If there’s another world, he lives in bliss;If there is none, he made the best of this.
Uplifting Poems for Funerals
“Crossing the Bar” – Alfred, Lord TennysonSunset and evening star,And one clear call for me!And may there be no moaning of the bar,When I put out to sea,But such a tide as moving seems asleep,Too full for sound and foam,When that which drew from out the boundless deepTurns again home.Twilight and evening bell,And after that the dark!And may there be no sadness of farewell,When I embark;For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and PlaceThe flood may bear me far,I hope to see my Pilot face to faceWhen I have cross’d the bar.
“Away” – James Whitcomb RileyI cannot say, and I will not sayThat he is dead. He is just away!With a cheery smile, and a wave of the handHe has wandered into an unknown land,And left us dreaming how very fairIt needs must be, since he lingers there.And you - O you, who the wildest yearnFor the old-time step and the glad return,Think of him faring on, as dearIn the love of There as the love of Here;And loyal still, as he gave the blowsOf his warrior-strength to his country's foes.Mild and gentle, as he was brave,When the sweetest love of his life he gaveTo simple things: Where the violets grewBlue as the eyes they were likened to,The touches of his hands have strayedAs reverently as his lips have prayed:When the little brown thrush that harshly chirredWas dear to him as the mocking-bird;And he pitied as much as a man in painA writhing honey-bee wet with rain.Think of him still as the same, I say:He is not dead - he is just away!
“When I Die” – Fenton JohnsonWhen I die my song shall beCrooning of the summer breeze;When I die my shroud shall beLeaves plucked from the maple trees;On a couch as green as mossAnd a bed as soft as downI shall sleep and dream my dreamOf a poet’s laurel crown.When I die my star shall dropSinging like a nightingale;When I die my soul shall riseWhere the lyre-strings never fail;In the rose my blood shall lie,In the violet the smile,And the moonbeams thousand strongPast my grave each night shall file.
“Death Is Nothing at All” – Henry Scott-HollandDeath is nothing at all.It does not count.I have only slipped away into the next room.Nothing has happened.Everything remains exactly as it was.I am I, and you are you,and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.Call me by the old familiar name.Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.Put no difference into your tone.Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.Life means all that it ever meant.It is the same as it ever was.There is absolute and unbroken continuity.What is this death but a negligible accident?Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?I am but waiting for you, for an interval,somewhere very near,just round the corner.All is well.Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.One brief moment and all will be as it was before.How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
“Under the Harvest Moon” – Carl SandburgUnder the harvest moon,When the soft silverDrips shimmeringOver the garden nights,Death, the gray mocker,Comes and whispers to youAs a beautiful friendWho remembers.Under the summer rosesWhen the flagrant crimsonLurks in the duskOf the wild red leaves,Love, with little hands,Comes and touches youWith a thousand memories,And asks youBeautiful, unanswerable questions.
Celebration of Life Poems
“Let Me Go” – Christina RossettiWhen I come to the end of the roadAnd the sun has set for meI want no rites in a gloom filled roomWhy cry for a soul set free?Miss me a little, but not for longAnd not with your head bowed lowRemember the love that once we sharedMiss me, but let me go. For this is a journey we all must takeAnd each must go alone.It's all part of the master planA step on the road to home.When you are lonely and sick at heartGo to the friends we know.Laugh at all the things we used to doMiss me, but let me go.
“In Memoriam” – William MorecombFor a second you were flyingLike you always wanted toNow you’ll fly foreverIn skies of azure blueWe’ll see your smile in every rayOf sunshine after rainAnd hear the echo of your laughterOver all the painThe world’s a little quieter nowThe colours have lost their hueThe birds are singing softlyAnd our hearts are missing youEach time we see a little cloudOr a rainbow soaring highWe’ll think of you and gentlyWipe a tear from our eye.
“Philosophy” – Elsa GidlowSince we must soon be fedAs honey and new breadTo every-hungry Death:O, love me very sweetAnd kiss me very longAnd let us use our breath For song.Nothing else enduresOverlong.
“Consolation” – Robert Louis StevensonThough he, that ever kind and true,Kept stoutly step by step with you,Your whole long, gusty lifetime through,Be gone a while before,Be now a moment gone before,Yet, doubt not, soon the seasons shall restoreYour friend to you.He has but turned the corner — stillHe pushes on with right good will,Through mire and marsh, by heugh and hill,That self-same arduous way —That self-same upland, hopeful way,That you and he through many a doubtful dayAttempted still.He is not dead, this friend — not dead,But in the path we mortals treadGot some few, trifling steps aheadAnd nearer to the end;So that you too, once past the bend,Shall meet again, as face to face, this friendYou fancy dead.Push gaily on, strong heart! The whileYou travel forward mile by mile,He loiters with a backward smileTill you can overtake,And strains his eyes to search his wake,Or whistling, as he sees you through the brake,Waits on a stile.
“Winter Sleep” – Edith Matilda ThomasI know it must be winter (though I sleep)—I know it must be winter, for I dreamI dip my bare feet in the running stream,And flowers are many, and the grass grows deep.
I know I must be old (how age deceives!)I know I must be old, for, all unseen,My heart grows young, as autumn fields grow greenWhen late rains patter on the falling sheaves.I know I must be tired (and tired souls err)—I know I must be tired, for all my soulTo deeds of daring beats a glad, faint roll,As storms the riven pine to music stir.I know I must be dying (Death draws near)—I know I must be dying, for I craveLife—life, strong life, and think not of the grave,And turf-bound silence, in the frosty year.
Moving Poems about Death
“Prisms” – Laura Riding JacksonWhat is beheld through glass seems glass.The quality of what I amEncases what I am not,Smooths the strange world.I perceive it slowlyIn my time,In my material,As my pride,As my possession:The vision is love.When life crashes like a cracked pane,Still shall I loveEven the slight grass and the patient dust.Death also sees, though darkly,And I must trust then as nowOnly another kind of prismThrough which I may not put my hands to touch.
“The Past” – Ralph Waldo EmersonThe debt is paid,The verdict said,The Furies laid,The plague is stayed.All fortunes made;Turn the key and bolt the door,Sweet is death forevermore.Nor haughty hope, nor swart chagrin,Nor murdering hate, can enter in.All is now secure and fast;Not the gods can shake the Past;Flies-to the adamantine doorBolted down forevermore.None can re-enter there,—No thief so politic,No Satan with a royal trickSteal in by window, chink, or hole,To bind or unbind, add what lacked,Insert a leaf, or forge a name,New-face or finish what is packed,Alter or mend eternal Fact.
“In Flanders Fields” – John McCraeIn Flanders fields the poppies blowBetween the crosses, row on row,That mark our place; and in the skyThe larks, still bravely singing, flyScarce heard amid the guns below.We are the Dead. Short days agoWe lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,Loved and were loved, and now we lieIn Flanders fields.Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throwThe torch; be yours to hold it high.If ye break faith with us who dieWe shall not sleep, though poppies growIn Flanders fields.
“Requiescat in Pace” – Libbie C. BaerCover with flowers the wound of the dart,Fill it with flowers, the void in the heart;Tenderest thoughts are unfolding to-day,Sweet as the blossoms a-bloom in the May.Think not of suffering, bloodshed and strife,Think not of loss that hath come to thy life,Think of the peace with suffering done,Think of the glories their sacrifice won.
“A Mother to the War-Makers” – Margaret WiddemerThis is my son that you have taken,Guard lest your gold-vault walls be shaken,Never again to speak or waken.This, that I gave my life to make,This you have bidden the vultures break—Dead for your selfish quarrel’s sake!This that I built all of my years,Made with my strength and love and tears,Dead for pride of your shining spears!Just for your playthings bought and soldYou have crushed to a heap of moldYouth and life worth a whole world’s gold—This was my son, that you have taken,Guard lest your gold-vault walls be shaken—This—that shall never speak or waken!
“On the Death of Emily Jane Brontë” – Charlotte BrontëMy darling thou wilt never knowThe grinding agony of woeThat we have bourne for thee,Thus may we consolation tearE'en from the depth of our despairAnd wasting misery.The nightly anguish thou art sparedWhen all the crushing truth is baredTo the awakening mind,When the galled heart is pierced with grief,Till wildly it implores relief,But small relief can find.Nor know'st thou what it is to lieLooking forth with streaming eyeOn life's lone wilderness."Weary, weary, dark and drear,How shall I the journey bear,The burden and distress?"Then since thou art spared such painWe will not wish thee here again;He that lives must mourn.God help us through our miseryAnd give us rest and joy with theeWhen we reach our bourne!
“Rhythms (Section I)” – Charles ReznikoffThe stars are hidden,the lights are out;the tall black housesare ranked about.I beat my fistson the stout doors,no answering stepscome down the floors.I have walked untilI am faint and numb;from one dark streetto another I come.The comfortingwinds are still.This is a chaosthrough which I stumble,till I reach the voidand down I tumble.The stars will thenbe out forever;the fists unclenched,the feet walk never,and all I sayblown by the windaway.
Poems about Grief
“Inarticulate Grief” – Richard AldingtonLet the sea beat its thin torn handsIn anguish against the shore,Let it moanBetween headland and cliff;Let the sea shriek out its agonyAcross waste sands and marshes,And clutch great ships,Tearing them plate from steel plateIn reckless anger;Let it break the white bulwarksOf harbour and city;Let it sob and scream and laughIn a sharp fury,With white salt tearsWet on its writhen face;Ah! let the sea still be madAnd crash in madness among the shaking rocks—For the sea is the cry of our sorrow.
“Forever” – Paul Laurence DunbarI had not known beforeForever was so long a word.The slow stroke of the clock of timeI had not heard.‘Tis hard to learn so late;It seems no sad heart really learns,But hopes and trusts and doubts and fears,And bleeds and burns.The night is not all dark,Nor is the day all it seems,But each may bring me this relief—My dreams and dreams.I had not known beforeThat Never was so sad a word,So wrap me in forgetfulness—I have not heard.
“Requiescat” – Oscar WildeTread lightly, she is nearUnder the snow,Speak gently, she can hearThe daisies grow.All her bright golden hairTarnished with rust,She that was young and fairFallen to dust.Lily-like, white as snow,She hardly knewShe was a woman, soSweetly she grew.Coffin-board, heavy stone,Lie on her breast,I vex my heart aloneShe is at rest.Peace, Peace, she cannot hearLyre or sonnet,All my life’s buried here,Heap earth upon it.
“Friends” – Leonora SpeyerGrief shall not be my friend! She shall not beCompanion of my table, path or bed,She shall not share my salt nor break my bread,Nor walk nor weep nor dream nor wake with me:I will not trust her mournful company,Nor listen to her whisperings of the dead,Why should I heed her somber eyelid’s red?Tears are but chains and I, I would be free!For grief would make a laggard of my will,And me, a puny thing of anguished need,A memory! And I would die at length,Close to the thought of you—and loving still:So will I choose a friend of stouter creed,The wingless, tearless thing the heart calls strength.
“[Like a white stone]” – Anna AkhmatovaLike a white stone deep in a draw-well lying,As hard and clear, a memory lies in me.I cannot strive nor have I heart for striving:It is such pain and yet such ecstasy.It seems to me that someone looking closelyInto my eyes would see it, patent, pale.And, seeing, would grow sadder and more thoughtfulThan one who listens to a bitter tale.The ancient gods changed men to things, but left themA consciousness that smoldered endlessly,That splendid sorrows might endure forever.And you are changed into a memory.
“When the Green Lies over the Earth” – Angelina Weld GrimkéWhen the green lies over the earth, my dear,A mantle of witching grace,When the smile and the tear of the young child yearDimple across its face,And then flee, when the wind all day is sweetWith the breath of growing things,When the wooing bird lights on restless feetAnd chirrups and trills and singsTo his lady-loveIn the green above,Then oh! my dear, when the youth’s in the year,Yours is the face that I long to have near,Yours is the face, my dear.But the green is hiding your curls, my dear,Your curls so shining and sweet;And the gold-hearted daisies this many a yearHave bloomed and bloomed at your feet,And the little birds just above your headWith their voices hushed, my dear,For you have sung and have prayed and have pledThis many, many a year.And the blossoms fall,On the garden wall,And drift like snow on the green below.But the sharp thorn growsOn the budding rose,And my heart no more leaps at the sunset glow.For oh! my dear, when the youth’s in the year,Yours is the face that I long to have near,Yours is the face, my dear.
“Lines Written at the Grave of Alexander Dumas” – Gwendolyn BennettCemeteries are places for departed soulsAnd bones interred,Or hearts with shattered loves.A woman with lips made warm for laughterWould find grey stones and roving spiritsToo chill for living, moving pulses . . .And thou, great spirit, wouldst shiver in thy granite shroudShould idle mirth or empty talkDisturb thy tranquil sleeping.A cemetery is a place for shattered lovesAnd broken hearts . . . .Bowed before the crystal chalice of thy soul,I find the multi-colored fragrances of thy mindHas lost itself in Death’s transparency.Oh, stir the lucid waters of thy sleepAnd coin for me a taleOf happy loves and gems and joyous limbsAnd hearts where love is sweet!A cemetery is a place for broken heartsAnd silent thought . . .And silence never moves,Nor speaks nor sings.
“She Went Out Singing” – Ameen RihaniShe went out singing, and the poppies stillCrowd round her door awaiting her return;She went out dancing, and the doleful rillLingers beneath her walls her news to learn.Their love is but a seed of what she has sown;Their grief is but a shadow of my own.O Tomb, O Tomb! did Zahra’s beauty fade,Or dost thou still preserve it in thy gloom?O, Tomb, thou art nor firmament nor glade,Yet in thee shines the moon and lilies bloom.
“To a Dead Friend” – Langston HughesThe moon still sends its mellow lightThrough the purple blackness of the night; The morning star is palely brightBefore the dawn.The sun still shines just as before;The rose still grows beside my door,But you have gone.The sky is blue and the robin sings;The butterflies dance on rainbow wingsThough I am sad.In all the earth no joy can be;Happiness comes no more to me,For you are dead.
Poems for a Parent’s Funeral
“O Captain! My Captain!” – Walt WhitmanO Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;But O heart! heart! heart!O the bleeding drops of red,Where on the deck my Captain lies,Fallen cold and dead.O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;Rise up- for you the flag is flung- for you the bugle trills,For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths- for you the shores a-crowding,For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;Here Captain! dear father!This arm beneath your head!It is some dream that on the deck,You’ve fallen cold and dead.My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;Exult O shores, and ring O bells!But I with mournful tread,Walk the deck my Captain lies,Fallen cold and dead.
“Mother Dear” – Claude McKay“Husban’, I am goin’—Though de brooklet is a-flowin’,An’ de coolin’ breeze is blowin’Softly by;Hark, how strange de cow is mooin’,An’ our Jennie’s pigeons cooin’,While I feel de water growin’,Climbing high.“Akee trees are laden,But de yellow leaves are fadin’Like a young an’ bloomin’ maidenFallen low;In de pond de ducks are wadin’While my body longs for Eden,An’ my weary breat’ is gledin’Way from you.“See dem John-crows flyin’!’Tis a sign dat I am dyin’;Oh, I’m wishful to be lyin’All alone:fait’ful husban’, don’t go cryin’,Life is one long self-denyin’All-surrenderin’ an’ sighin’Livin’ moan.”“Wife, de parson’s prayin’,Won’t you listen what he’s sayin’,Spend de endin’ of your day inChrist our Lord?"But de sound of horses neighin’,Baain’ goats an’ donkeys brayin’,Twitt’rin’ birds an’ children playin’Was all she heard.Things she had been rearin’,Only those could claim her hearin,When de end we had been fearin’Now had come:Now her last pain she is bearin’,Now de final scene is nearin’,An’ her vacant eyes are starin’On her hom.Oh! it was heart-rendin’As we watched de loved life endin’,Dat sweet sainted spirit bendin’To de death:Gone all further hope of mendin’,With de angel Death attendin’,An’ his slayin’ spirit blendin’With her breath.’
“Maumee Ruth” – Sterling A. BrownMight as well bury herAnd bury her deep,Might as well put herWhere she can sleep.Might as well lay herOut in her shiny black;And for the love of GodNot wish her back.Maum Sal may miss herMaum Sal, she onlyWith no one now to scoffSal may be lonely . . . .Nobody else there isWho will be caringHow rocky was the roadFor her wayfaring;Nobody be heeding inCabin, or townThat she is lying hereIn her best gown.Boy that she suckledHow should he knowHiding in city holesSniffling the ‘snow’?And how should the newsPierce Harlem’s dinTo reach her baby gal,Sodden with gin?To cut her withered heartThey cannot come again,Preach her the lies aboutJordan and thenMight as well drop herDeep in the groundMight as well pray for herThat she sleep sound. . . . .
“I Think I See Him There” – Waring CuneyI think I see Him thereWith a stern dream on his faceI see Him there—Wishing they would hurryThe last nail in place.And I wonder, had I been there,Would I have doubted tooOr would the dream have told me,What this man speaks is true.
“My Mother” – Claude McKayIReg wished me to go with him to the field,I paused because I did not want to go;But in her quiet way she made me yieldReluctantly, for she was breathing low.Her hand she slowly lifted from her lapAnd, smiling sadly in the old sweet way,She pointed to the nail where hung my cap.Her eyes said: I shall last another day.But scarcely had we reached the distant place,When o'er the hills we heard a faint bell ringing;A boy came running up with frightened face;We knew the fatal news that he was bringing.I heard him listlessly, without a moan,Although the only one I loved was gone.IIThe dawn departs, the morning is begun,The trades come whispering from off the seas,The fields of corn are golden in the sun,The dark-brown tassels fluttering in the breeze;The bell is sounding and the children pass,Frog-leaping, skipping, shouting, laughing shrill,Down the red road, over the pasture-grass,Up to the school-house crumbling on the hill.The older folk are at their peaceful toil,Some pulling up the weeds, some plucking corn,And others breaking up the sun-baked soil.Float, faintly-scented breeze, at early mornOver the earth where mortals sow and reap—Beneath its breast my mother lies asleep.
“Lament” – Edna St. Vincent MillayListen, children:Your father is dead.From his old coatsI'll make you little jackets;I'll make you little trousersFrom his old pants.There'll be in his pocketsThings he used to put there,Keys and penniesCovered with tobacco;Dan shall have the penniesTo save in his bank;Anne shall have the keysTo make a pretty noise with.Life must go on,And the dead be forgotten;Life must go on,Though good men die;Anne, eat your breakfast;Dan, take your medicine;Life must go on;I forget just why.
“Telling the Bees” – Lizette Woodworth ReeseA Colonial CustomBathsheba came out to the sun,Out to our wallèd cherry-trees;The tears adown her cheek did run,Bathsheba standing in the sun,Telling the bees.My mother had that moment died;Unknowing, sped I to the trees,And plucked Bathsheba’s hand aside;Then caught the name that there she criedTelling the bees.Her look I never can forget,I that held sobbing to her knees;The cherry-boughs above us met;I think I see Bathsheba yetTelling the bees.
“Mother” – Luis DatoWhen evenings cast pale shadows on the earth,And silence, like a vast mysterious ghost,Stifles the land and sea from hill to coast,And buries all that tropic suns gave birth,When by myself I pace the darkened shore,And think of this unhappy lot of mine,The pain and grief the fates to me assign,I sigh for you, O mother I adore!That I could seek your bosom as of old,And, nestling there, bare secrets that oppress,Accuse these that my love would dispossess,Whose hearts to cold desires and base are sold!O mother dear! When death relieves our sighs,Shall we in heaven, meet, in Paradise?
“December, 1919” – Claude McKayLast night I heard your voice, mother,The words you sang to meWhen I, a little barefoot boy,Knelt down against your knee.And tears gushed from my heart, mother,And passed beyond its wall,But though the fountain reached my throatThe drops refused to fall.'Tis ten years since you died, mother,Just ten dark years of pain,And oh, I only wish that ICould weep just once again.
Reading a Poem at a Funeral
Practice reading the poem until you know it well. You don’t have to memorize the poem, but it helps to read it until you feel familiar with it. First, read it silently and think about the rhythm and order of the words. Next, find a quiet place to read it out loud at least 15 times. It’s not necessary to read it out loud in front of anyone, but it may help to have a trusted friend watch and offer feedback to help you polish your reading. Read the poem in front of a mirror if you don’t have anyone to listen and offer comments.
Follow the natural phrases and not the line breaks. While poems are often arranged with specific line breaks, you don’t have to pause at the end of a line. Instead of following the line breaks, pause when you see punctuation like a comma, semicolon, or period. Pausing at the end of line breaks can make the poem sound choppy when you read it out loud. Remember to breathe naturally as you read. Use the pause for punctuation to take a quick breath before moving on.
Slow down and vary the pitch and tone of your voice. Many people talk more rapidly when they’re nervous. Take a deep breath before you start reading and think about slowing down. Give yourself enough time to pronounce each word carefully so the audience understands what you say. Try to read in a relaxed tone of voice that rises and falls naturally. Don’t worry about giving a dramatic reading. Let the poem speak for itself.
Comments
0 comment