Extra Credit - Poems About Death - For How They Croaked

If you'd like to earn extra credit with these, earn 1 point per line for memorization. You do NOT have to memorize a whole poem. You could memorize portions -- sets of lines that go together well.     -- Poems found on Bartleby.com John Donne 72. "Death be not proud, though some have called thee" DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so, For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow, Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee, Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee doe goe, Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie. Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell, And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well, And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then; One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die. Emily Dickinson (1830–86).  Complete Poems.  1924.

Part Four: Time and Eternity XXII

THE BUSTLE in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth,—
The sweeping up the heart,	5
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity. _____________________________________ Invictus   BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY Out of the night that covers me,        Black as the pit from pole to pole,  I thank whatever gods may be        For my unconquerable soul.  In the fell clutch of circumstance        I have not winced nor cried aloud.  Under the bludgeonings of chance        My head is bloody, but unbowed.  Beyond this place of wrath and tears        Looms but the Horror of the shade,  And yet the menace of the years        Finds and shall find me unafraid.  It matters not how strait the gate,        How charged with punishments the scroll,  I am the master of my fate,        I am the captain of my soul.  * * * * * * * * * * This is a short poem about King Tut: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=28702 * * * * * * * * * * * Speech: “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears” Related Poem Content Details BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE(from Julius Caesar, spoken by Marc Antony) Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest– For Brutus is an honourable man; So are they all, all honourable men– Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me: But Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And, sure, he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause: What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him? O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me. * * * * * * * * * *  If you'd like to earn extra credit with these, earn 1 point per line for memorization.    -- Poems found on Bartleby.com