The Oxford Book of DeathDennis Joseph Enright Oxford University Press, 1983 - 351 psl. "Reading for this anthology," writes D.J. Enright, "I was moved to the thought that on no theme have writers shown themselves more lively." A survivor of Belsen voiced the same sentiment when, reflecting on the concentration camps, he wrote, "When in death we are in the midst of life." By turns poignant, tragic, comic, and inspiring, this anthology of thoughts about death ranges from ancient times to the present day--including almost 900 selections by poets, novelists, philosophers, scientists, and common people. Arranged under headings such as "Love," "War," "Last Words," and "Children," these selections show the varied, sometimes surprising, reactions of the dying and the bereaved to the final human act. |
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157 psl.
... Sweet spring , full of sweet days and roses , A box where sweets compacted lie ; My music shows ye have your closes , And all must die . Only a sweet and virtuous soul , Like season'd timber , never gives ; But though the whole world ...
... Sweet spring , full of sweet days and roses , A box where sweets compacted lie ; My music shows ye have your closes , And all must die . Only a sweet and virtuous soul , Like season'd timber , never gives ; But though the whole world ...
180 psl.
... sweet perfume No winds can scatter , an entire embrace That no satiety can e'er unlace . Ingraced into so high a favour there , The saints with their beau - peers whole worlds outwear , And things unseen do see , and things unheard do ...
... sweet perfume No winds can scatter , an entire embrace That no satiety can e'er unlace . Ingraced into so high a favour there , The saints with their beau - peers whole worlds outwear , And things unseen do see , and things unheard do ...
247 psl.
... sweet mansion ; Like a soft lump of incense , hasted By too hot a fire , and wasted Into perfuming clouds , so fast Shalt thou exhale to Heav'n at last In a resolving SIGH , and then O what ? Ask not the Tongues of men . Angels cannot ...
... sweet mansion ; Like a soft lump of incense , hasted By too hot a fire , and wasted Into perfuming clouds , so fast Shalt thou exhale to Heav'n at last In a resolving SIGH , and then O what ? Ask not the Tongues of men . Angels cannot ...
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A. E. Housman Alistair Elliot Arthur Waley asked believe bird body breath buried child coffin Collected Poems Copyright Czesław Miłosz D. J. Enright dark dead dear death died dying earth Epitaph eternal eyes Faber & Faber Faber Ltd face fear feel flowers friends funeral ghosts grave grief H. T. Lowe-Porter hand hath head hear heart heaven Hell human immortality John kill Kleinzeit Knopf Inc leave letter live look Lord Michael Hamburger mind mother mourning N. J. Dawood nature never night Oxford University Press pain Penguin Books Ltd permission of Faber permission of Oxford pleasure poor Reprinted by permission sleep smile sorrow soul spirit suicide sweet Sylvia Townsend Warner talk Ted Hughes tell thee things Thomas thou thought tomb trans W. S. Merwin walk weeping words young