But first, on earth as Vampire sent, Thy corpse shall from its tomb be rent: Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race; There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life; Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corpse. Thy victims are they yet expire Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers withered on the stem.
George Gordon Byron
Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.
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In the works of Lucretius, we find two reasons why we shouldn?t worry about death. If you have had a successful life, Lucretius tell us, there?s no reason to mind its end. And, if you haven?t had a good time,?Why do you seek to add more years, which woul
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For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'dAnd the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still
death hearts wings eyes face angel
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The lapse of ages changes all things - time - language - the earth - the bounds of the sea - the stars of the sky, and everything 'about, around, and underneath' man, except man himself, who has always been and always will be, an unlucky rascal. The infinite variety of lives conduct but to death, and the infinity of wishes lead but to disappointment. All the discoveries which have yet been made have multiplied little but existence.
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