Quotes About Elegy

You were moon's eye to me pull and grained and mantling' - Praise Song For My Mother by Charlotte Mew

That sound . . . that sound, it came from his mouth. It was the song of something dying. Something that never did live.

To Beatrice- darling, dearest, dead.

The Summer-time will come again To kiss the brow of dying Spring, And, with the south wind's low refrain, A choral requiem will she sing.

Be With Me In The Phases Of My Work Because My Brain Feels Like It Has Been Whipped And I Yearn To Make A Small Perfect Thing Which Will Live In Your Morning Like Curious Static Through A President's Elegy Or A Nude Hunchback Acquiring A Tan On The Crowded Oily Beach.

There has not been a day since his sudden and mysterious vanishing that I have not been searching for him, looking in the most unlikely places. Everything and everyone, existence itself, has become an evocation, a possibility for resemblance. Perhaps this is what is meant by that brief and now almost archaic word: elegy

Flowers for the dead. Say hello to the forest.

The artist is only visiting pain, imagining it. We praise the artist, not the apple, not the apple's shadow, which is murdered slowly. There must be some way of drawing a picture so that it doesn't become an elegy.

From behind the wheel, I learn the difference between a eulogy and an elegy, and discover which is more vital, in life and in death.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

ELEGY, n. A composition in verse, in which, without employing any of the methods of humor, the writer aims to produce in the reader's mind the dampest kind of dejection. The most famous English example begins somewhat like this: The cur foretells the knell of parting day; The loafing herd winds slowly o'er the lea; The wise man homeward plods; I only stay To fiddle-faddle in a minor key.

The death-bed of a day, how beautiful!

Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death.

Part of elegy is confrontation - not just with the idea of death, but with the person who has died.

A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young. —Edgar Allan Poe, "Lenore

The song is ended,But the melody lingers on.

The gloomy shade of death.

O Death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!

Death is a dark flower, its perfume heady and dangerous as it pulls you into its bosom.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath.

I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death.

He'd make a lovely corpse.

He would make a lovely corpse.

When a man and a woman die, as poets sung, His heart's the last part moves, her last, the tongue.