Alan Seeger

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

Alan Seeger Poems

1. Sonnet Iv 1/1/2004
2. Sonnet Xiv 1/1/2004
3. Sonnet Xii 1/1/2004
4. Sonnet 01 1/1/2004
5. Sonnet Vi 1/1/2004
6. Sonnet 11 1/1/2004
7. Sonnet Ii 1/1/2004
8. Sonnet Viii 1/1/2004
9. Sonnet 10 1/1/2004
10. Sonnet 12 1/1/2004
11. Sonnet Vii 1/1/2004
12. Sonnet 06 1/1/2004
13. Sonnet Ix 1/1/2004
14. Sonnet 02 1/1/2004
15. Sonnet V 1/1/2004
16. Sonnet Iii 1/1/2004
17. Sonnet 07 1/1/2004
18. Sonnet I 1/1/2004
19. To England At The Outbreak Of The Balkan War 1/1/2004
20. Sonnet Xiii 1/1/2004
21. Sonnet X 1/1/2004
22. Sonnet 08 1/1/2004
23. Tezcotzinco 1/1/2004
24. The Nympholept 1/1/2004
25. Vivien 1/1/2004
26. Fragments 1/1/2004
27. El Extraviado 1/1/2004
28. Sonnet Xv 1/1/2004
29. Virginibus Puerisque . . . 1/1/2004
30. Sonnet Xi 1/1/2004
31. Sonnet 05 1/1/2004
32. Sonnet 04 1/1/2004
33. Written In A Volume Of The Comtesse De Noailles 1/1/2004
34. Sonnet 03 1/1/2004
35. Resurgam 1/1/2004
36. Tithonus 1/1/2004
37. On The Cliffs, Newport 1/1/2004
38. The Aisne 1/1/2004
39. Antinous 1/1/2004
40. The Bayadere 1/1/2004

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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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