Poems with rhymes of dying

You far and I’ll be crying
Perhaps I shall be dying

When Nell, given o'er by the doctor, was dying,
And John at the chimney stood decently crying,

Wild thoughts are always flying,
Like sparks across my brain,
Now flashing out, now dying,

From her curse, shall fall a-dying;
Call me thy empress, Time to see thee
Shall forget his art of flying.

Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying.
Tiresome heart, forever living and dying,

Pale she was lying,
Singing and dying,

CHOKED with ill weeds my garden lay a-dying,
Hard was the ground, no bud had heart to blow,
Yet shone your smile there, with your soft breath sighing:

To the chambers where thou'rt lying?
Come to me thence, and say
If thou thought'st on me in dying?

Out in a world of death far to the northward lying,
Under the sun and the moon, under the dusk and the day;
Under the glimmer of stars and the purple of sunsets dying,

O wind, that o'er my head art flying
The way my friends their course did bend,
I should not feel the pain of dying,

"With tattered banners flying
With trail of dead and dying,

Tripping on air, of fake mirages lying
Swimming motionless, I think of dying

She lay dying,
We all gathered round, our eyes
Red with crying,

When I found you, helpless lying,
And you waived my deep misprise,
And swore me, dying,

As he received so he gave -- nothing grudged, naught denying,
Not even the last gasp of his breath when he strove for us, dying.

Please pardon us for not replying;
To shatter you we cannot shoot . . .
My men are dead and I am dying."

For there the lily, and the musk-rose, sighing,
Are emblems true of hapless lovers dying:

For their far off flying
From summer dying.

Age and death defying,
Till at last it learns
All but Love is dying;

Amid their cruel guying;
Grave as a god, and all the time
It knew that it was dying.