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It is not death, it is dying that alarms me
If you don't know how to die, don't worry; Nature will tell you what to do on the spot, fully and adequately. She will do this job perfectly for you; don't bother your head about
Death is the wish of some, the relief of many, and the end of all
Since every mortal power of Coleridge
Was frozen at its marvellous source,
The rapt one, of the godlike forehead,
The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth:
And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle,
Has vanished from his lonely hearth.

Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg
A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.

The Tower, 1928. Leda and the Swan
The nearest friends can go
With anyone to death, comes so far short
They might as well not try to go at all.

Home Burial, 1914
How he lies in his rights of a man!
Death has done all death can.
And absorbed in the new life he leads,
He recks not, he heeds
Nor his wrong nor my vengeance; both strike
On his senses alike,
And are lost in the solemn and strange
Surprise of the change.
O never star
Was lost; here
We all aspire to heaven and there is heaven
Above us.
If I stoop
Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud,
It is but for a time; I press God's lamp
Close to my breast; its splendor soon or late
Will pierce the gloom. I shall emerge some day.
The air is full of farewells to the dying,
And mournings for the dead.

Resignation
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