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'I would to heaven that I were so much clay'

I would to heaven that I were so much clay,
As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling -
Because at least the past were passed away -
And for the future - (but I write this reeling,
Having got drunk exceedingly today,
So that I seem to stand upon the ceiling)
I say - the future is a serious matter -
And so - for God's sake - hock and soda water!

(George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788 - 1824))

found via poemsdaily

Requiescat

Strew on her roses, roses,
And never a spray of yew.
In quiet she reposes:
Ah! would that I did too!

Her mirth the world required:
She bathed it in smiles of glee.
But her heart was tired, tired,
And now they let her be.

Her life was turning, turning,
In mazes of heat and sound.
But for peace her soul was yearning
And now peace laps her round.

Her cabin'd, ample Spirit,
It flutter'd and failed for breath,
Tonight it doth inherit
The vasty hall of Death.

(Matthew Arnold)

**
Oh! Snatch'd Away in Beauty's Bloom

Oh! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:

And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause and lightly tread;
Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!

Away! we know that tears are vain,
That death nor heeds nor hears distress:
Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou--who tell'st me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

(George Gordon, Lord Byron)