A poem about remembrance in death?

Question

He is a husband and a father

Answer 1

Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep,
He hath awaken'd from the dream of life;
'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep
With phantoms an unprofitable strife,
And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife
Invulnerable nothings. We decay
Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief
Convulse us and consume us day by day,
And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.

He has outsoar'd the shadow of our night;
Envy and calumny and hate and pain,
And that unrest which men miscall delight,
Can touch him not and torture not again;
From the contagion of the world's slow stain
He is secure, and now can never mourn
A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain;
Nor, when the spirit's self has ceas'd to burn,
With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.

He lives, he wakes - 'tis Death is dead, not he;
Mourn not for Adonais. Thou young Dawn,
Turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee
The spirit thou lamentest is not gone;
Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan!
Cease, ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air,
Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown
O'er the abandon'd Earth, now leave it bare
Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair!

He is made one with Nature: there is heard
His voice in all her music, from the moan
Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird;
He is a presence to be felt and known
In darkness and in light, from herb and stone,
Spreading itself where'er that Power may move
Which has withdrawn his being to its own;
Which wields the world with never-wearied love,
Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.

He is a portion of the loveliness
Which once he made more lovely: he doth bear
His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress
Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there
All new successions to the forms they wear;
Torturing th' unwilling dross that checks its flight
To its own likeness, as each mass may bear;
And bursting in its beauty and its might
From trees and beasts and men into the Heaven's light.

The splendours of the firmament of time
May be eclips'd, but are extinguish'd not;
Like stars to their appointed height they climb,
And death is a low mist which cannot blot
The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought
Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair,
And love and life contend in it for what
Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there
And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air.


- portion of the Shelley poem "Adonais" on the death of John Keats

Answer 2

Do Not Stand At 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

I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle Autumn rain

When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds

In circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night

Do not stand at my grave and cry

I am not there
I did not die



(I'm personally not thrilled with the last line cuz hello, the person DID die.)

Answer 3

He had the love of the Abba. In his reaching arms, soft comfort and warm embrace. Climbing on his lap. It wasn't his extended hand it was his heart. I long to see his face. It's not what I said in his ear but how he listened. Every time I do something he did it causes a revival.

Answer 4

We remember you as strong and brave
A man whose trinkets we will save
A ticket stub from that ball game where you caught the foul ball
A movie stub from the movie we rated best of all
A bible where you wrote some notes all in the margin space
A picture that reveals the joy and love always on your face.
It seems like little things I guess to one who does not know
But all those things meant love to us, so let your candle glow.

Answer 5

Give me more details about his favorite activities and maybe his occupation, and I can come up with something you would probably like.

Answer 6

ASHES TO ASHES DUST TO DUST IF THE WOMAN DON`T GET YOU THE LIQUEUR MUST...

Answer 7

sure..