Alan Seeger

(22 June 1888 - 4 July 1916 / New York City, New York)

Alan Seeger Poems

41. Sonnet I 1/1/2004
42. Sonnet Ii 1/1/2004
43. Sonnet Iii 1/1/2004
44. Sonnet Iv 1/1/2004
45. Sonnet Ix 1/1/2004
46. Sonnet V 1/1/2004
47. Sonnet Vi 1/1/2004
48. Sonnet Vii 1/1/2004
49. Sonnet Viii 1/1/2004
50. Sonnet X 1/1/2004
51. Sonnet Xi 1/1/2004
52. Sonnet Xii 1/1/2004
53. Sonnet Xiii 1/1/2004
54. Sonnet Xiv 1/1/2004
55. Sonnet Xv 1/1/2004
56. Sonnet Xvi: Who Shall Invoke Her 1/3/2003
57. Tezcotzinco 1/1/2004
58. The Aisne 1/1/2004
59. The Bayadere 1/1/2004
60. The Deserted Garden 1/3/2003
61. The Hosts 1/3/2003
62. The Need To Love 1/3/2003
63. The Nympholept 1/1/2004
64. The Old Lowe House, Staten Island 1/1/2004
65. The Rendezvous 1/1/2004
66. The Sultan's Palace 1/3/2003
67. The Torture Of Cuauhtemoc 1/1/2004
68. The Wanderer 1/3/2003
69. Tithonus 1/1/2004
70. To England At The Outbreak Of The Balkan War 1/1/2004
71. Translations: Dante - Inferno, Canto Xxvi 1/1/2004
72. Virginibus Puerisque . . . 1/1/2004
73. Vivien 1/1/2004
74. With A Copy Of Shakespeare's Sonnets On Leaving College 1/1/2004
75. Written In A Volume Of The Comtesse De Noailles 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Alan Seeger

I Have A Rendezvous With Death

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air—
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath—
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.

God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk ...

Read the full of I Have A Rendezvous With Death

Tithonus

So when the verdure of his life was shed,
With all the grace of ripened manlihead,
And on his locks, but now so lovable,
Old age like desolating winter fell,
Leaving them white and flowerless and forlorn:
Then from his bed the Goddess of the Morn
Softly withheld, yet cherished him no less
With pious works of pitying tenderness;
Till when at length with vacant, heedless eyes,

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