Death hath so many doors to let out life.

Vanquished in life, his death
By beauty made amends:
The passing of his breath
Won his defeated ends.

I know death hath ten thousand several doors
For men to take their exits.

Death's dry bones glowed with light in the erotic dark
but he woke not nor felt the two warm bodies merge;
the male worm then took heart and in his wife's ear whispered:
"With one sweet kiss, dear wife, we've conquered conquering Death!"

How he lies in his rights of a man!
Death has done all death can.
And absorbed in the new life he leads,
He recks not, he heeds
Nor his wrong nor my vengeance; both strike
On his senses alike,
And are lost in the solemn and strange
Surprise of the change.

You and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.

Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me — That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed Free hearts, free foreheads — you and I are old; Old age hath yet his honor and his toil. Death closes all; but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.

Death is the port where all may refuge find,
The end of labour, entry unto rest.

Life is glad life when led by laughing hours, With joys of love or spoils of battle gilt;
When darkness steals the day and shuts the flowers, Our arms are shattered and the wine is spilt,
We rise as grateful guests from banquet gay,
Resign the wreath, and toss the glass away.Death is dark death when slurred with terrors vain: Whether blest isles or fields Elysian wait,
Or all is silent o'er the circling main, We know not ever; but we conquer Fate,
Assail the mansions of the Gods, and claim
The crown of valour, in a deathless name.Tis well to live for glory, home, and land; And, when these fail us, it is well to die.
The latest freedom never fails our hand, From scornful Earth, on wings of scorn, to fly;
When Life grows heavy. Death remains, the door
To dreamless rest beside the Stygian shore.The portals open to our meteor way: A red dawn breaks the shadows of the hour.
We leave the bitter cup of alien sway, To hinds that crouch beneath the heels of power.
Ours the triumphal path, the hero's right;
And Death hangs o'er us like a starry night!

Death is the looking-glass of life wherein
Each man may scan the aspect of his deeds.

Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there.

He had reached an age where death no longer has the quality of ghastly surprise

Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws