Robert Southey

(1774 - 1843 / Bristol / England)

His Books - Poem by Robert Southey

MY days among the Dead are past;
   Around me I behold,
Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
   The mighty minds of old:
My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.

With them I take delight in weal
   And seek relief in woe;
And while I understand and feel
   How much to them I owe,
My cheeks have often been bedew'd
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

My thoughts are with the Dead; with them
   I live in long-past years,
Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
   Partake their hopes and fears;
And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.

My hopes are with the Dead; anon
   My place with them will be,
And I with them shall travel on
   Through all Futurity;
Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.


Comments about His Books by Robert Southey

  • Susan Williams (12/5/2015 5:05:00 PM)


    His delight is with the dead, his thoughts are with the dead, and his hopes are with the dead. I've never thought books were dead though I suppose their authors could be considered so. Yet they live as long as we read their words and thoughts and deeds, don't you think? (Report) Reply

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  • (7/6/2012 3:33:00 AM)


    i've read this poem during my school days and the last two lines of the first verse have always left an idelible mark on my mind whenever i'm in a library. How well the poet has expressed his sentiments is what i really appreciate very much. i didn't remember neither the author's name nor all the verses. it's only with the 2 lines that i remembered so well all these years that i was able to track them through your website. Thank you so much indeed! (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: travel, trust, hope, fear, friend



Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003

Poem Edited: Tuesday, July 17, 2012


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