Famous Death Poems

Famous Death Poems

Classic Death Poems

Since the beginning of time, humans have been born, have lived their sometimes grand and sometimes ordinary lives, and have thereafter been laid to rest in countless graves and tombs. Death is something that, in a peculiar way, unites people everywhere, regardless of their social status, race, religious beliefs, or country of residence. This curious aspect of human nature inspired countless famous poets to contemplate, and write about, man's mortality. Famous poets like Emily Dickinson, Ella Wheeler Wilcox, and Mary Elizabeth Frye all had their own unique ways of viewing death and its effect on the living, views that still impact readers, even today.

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Do Not Stand By My Grave And Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,...

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My baby boy was stillborn in October last year. I miss him every day. This poem reminds me that he will always be with me.

But You Didn't By Merrill Glass
But You Didn't

Recommended for Students

Remember the time you lent me your car and I dented it?
I thought you'd kill me...
But you didn't....

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I love your poem, I am just like you in your poem. I miss my grandfather so much and your poem almost made cry. It was absolutely beautiful. Thank you for your hard work on this poem.

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The Little White Hearse By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
The Little White Hearse

Somebody's baby was buried to-day--
The empty white hearse from the grave rumbled back,
And the morning somehow seemed less smiling and gay
As I paused on the walk while it crossed on its way,...

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O Captain! My Captain!

O 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;...

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The Cross of Snow By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Cross of Snow

In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle face--the face of one long dead--
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light....

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