Alan Seeger

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

Alan Seeger Poems

1. Sonnet 05 1/1/2004
2. Sonnet 02 1/1/2004
3. Sonnet 12 1/1/2004
4. El Extraviado 1/1/2004
5. Sonnet Iv 1/1/2004
6. An Ode To Antares 1/1/2004
7. Sonnet Xv 1/1/2004
8. To England At The Outbreak Of The Balkan War 1/1/2004
9. Sonnet Iii 1/1/2004
10. Sonnet Viii 1/1/2004
11. Sonnet I 1/1/2004
12. Coucy 1/1/2004
13. The Nympholept 1/1/2004
14. Kyrenaikos 1/1/2004
15. Bellinglise 1/1/2004
16. Lyonesse 1/1/2004
17. Sonnet 04 1/1/2004
18. Sonnet Xiv 1/1/2004
19. Sonnet 11 1/1/2004
20. Sonnet Xi 1/1/2004
21. Sonnet Xvi: Who Shall Invoke Her 1/3/2003
22. Sonnet 01 1/1/2004
23. Sonnet Vi 1/1/2004
24. Sonnet Xii 1/1/2004
25. Ariosto. Orlando Furioso, Canto X, 91-99 1/1/2004
26. Sonnet 03 1/1/2004
27. Sonnet Xiii 1/1/2004
28. After An Epigram Of Clement Marot 1/1/2004
29. Sonnet Ix 1/1/2004
30. Tezcotzinco 1/1/2004
31. The Aisne 1/1/2004
32. Fragments 1/1/2004
33. Sonnet Ii 1/1/2004
34. The Sultan's Palace 1/3/2003
35. Sonnet 07 1/1/2004
36. Sonnet Vii 1/1/2004
37. Sonnet 06 1/1/2004
38. Sonnet 10 1/1/2004
39. Virginibus Puerisque . . . 1/1/2004
40. Liebestod 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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