Death and Mourning

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Though lovers be lost love shall not;

I shall be like that tree, I shall die at the top.

Eternity’s a terrible thought. I mean, where’s it all going to end?

The bad end unhappily, the good unluckily.

This be the verse you grave for me:

Under the wide and starry sky

Let be be finale of seem.

Finality is death. Perfection is finality.

Crito, we owe a cock to Aesculapius; please pay it and don’t forget it.

How wonderful is Death,

Ere Babylon was dust,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.

Alas! that all we loved of him should be,

Winter is come and gone,

The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.

I weep for Adonais—he is dead!

Cowards die many times before their deaths;

When beggars die, there are no comets seen;

Let’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods,

And come he slow, or come he fast,

Here was the world’s worst wound. And here with pride

There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval.

When I am dead, my dearest,