montresor in the cask of amontillado

Love and Death by Sara Teasdale Shall we, too, rise forgetful from our sleep,  And shall my soul that lies within your hand  Remember nothing, as the blowing sand  Forgets the palm where long blue shadows creep  When winds along the darkened desert sweep?  Or would it still remember, tho’ it spanned  A thousand heavens, while the planets fanned  The vacant ether with their voices deep?  Soul of my soul, no word shall be forgot,  Nor yet alone, beloved, shall we see  The desolation of extinguished suns,  Nor fear the void wherethro’ our planet runs,  For still together shall we go and not  Fare forth alone to front eternity.    And you as well must die by Edna St. Vincent Millay    Death poem by Moriya Sen’an 我死なば 酒屋の瓶の下にいけよ もしや雫の もりやせんなん Ware shinaba sakaya no kame no ****a ni ikeyo moshi ya shizuku no mori ya sen nan Bury me when I die beneath a wine barrel in a tavern. With luck the cask will leak   Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas    (Here’s the author himself reading it. And of course, there’s this version too.)   On Death by Percy Bysshe Shelley The pale, the cold, and the moony smile Which the meteor beam of a starless night Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle, Ere the dawning of morn’s undoubted light, Is the flame of life so fickle and wan That flits round our ste** till their strength is gone. O man! hold thee on in courage of soul Through the stormy shades of thy wordly way, And the billows of clouds that around thee roll Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day, Where hell and heaven shall leave thee free To the universe of destiny. This world is the nurse of all we know, This world is the mother of all we feel, And the coming of death is a fearful blow To a brain unencompass’d by nerves of steel: When all that we know, or feel, or see, Shall pass like an unreal mystery. The secret things of the grave are there, Where all but this frame must surely be, Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous ear No longer will live, to hear or to see All that is great and all that is strange In the boundless realm of unending change. Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death? Who lifteth the veil of what is to come? Who painteth the shadows that are beneath The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb? Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be With the fears and the love for that which we see?     My God, It’s Full of Stars by Tracy K. Smith    (Read the full poem here.)   Because I Could Not Stop for Death by Emily Dickinson Because I could not stop for Death—  He kindly stopped for me—  The Carriage held but just Ourselves—  And Immortality. We slowly drove—He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility—  We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess—in the Ring—  We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain—  We passed the Setting Sun—  Or rather—He passed us—  The Dews drew quivering and chill—  For only Gossamer, my Gown—  My Tippet—only Tulle—  We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground—  The Roof was scarcely visible—  The Cornice—in the Ground—  Since then—‘tis Centuries—and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses’ Heads Were toward Eter