From King Richard II: Act III, scene II:

For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead. Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and fled.

From King Henry VI, part I: Act IV, scene VI:

Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead: The help of one stands me in little stead.

From A Midsummer Night's Dream: Act V, scene I:

Now am I dead, Now am I fled;

From Pericles, Prince of Tyre: Act I, scene I:

Till Pericles be dead, My heart can lend no succor to my head.

From Pericles, Prince of Tyre: Act II, scene V:

Antiochus and his daughter dead; The men of Tyrus on the head

From Miscellaneous: Poem XXI.:

King Pandion he is dead; All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;

From Miscellaneous: Poem XXI.:

Love and constancy is dead; Phoenix and the turtle fled

From Shakespeare's Sonnet LXVIII.:

Before the golden tresses of the dead, The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, To live a second life on second head; Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay:

From Shakespeare's Sonnet LXXI.:

No longer mourn for me when I am dead Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:

From "Crazy Jane Grown Old Looks At The Dancers" by William Butler Yeats:

Drew a knife to strike him dead, I could but leave him to his fate; For no matter what is said They had all that had their hate;

From "To A Squirrel At Kyle-Na No" by William Butler Yeats:

To strike you dead? When all I would do Is to scratch your head And let you go.

From "Words For Music Perhaps" by William Butler Yeats:

Because of my dear Jack that's dead. Coxcomb was the least he said:

From "He Wishes His Beloved Were Dead" by William Butler Yeats:

WERE you but lying cold and dead, And lights were paling out of the West, You would come hither, and bend your head, And I would lay my head on your breast;

From "The Blessed" by William Butler Yeats:

"And blessedness goes where the wind goes, And when it is gone we are dead; I see the blessedest soul in the world And he nods a drunken head.

From "The Grey Rock" by William Butler Yeats:

For he and the King's son were dead. I'd promised him two hundred years, And when for all I'd done or said -- And these immortal eyes shed tears --

From "The New Faces" by William Butler Yeats:

IF you, that have grown old, were the first dead, Neither catalpa tree nor scented lime Should hear my living feet, nor would I tread Where we wrought that shall break the teeth of Time.

From "Cuchulain Comforted" by William Butler Yeats:

Violent and famous, strode among the dead; Eyes stared out of the branches and were gone.

Then certain Shrouds that muttered head to head Came and were gone. He leant upon a tree

From "To A Child Dancing In The Wind" by William Butler Yeats:

Nor the best labourer dead And all the sheaves to bind. What need have you to dread The monstrous crying of wind!

From "The Crazed Moon" by William Butler Yeats:

Children dazed or dead! When she in all her virginal pride First trod on the mountain's head What stir ran through the countryside

From "The Song Of The Happy Shepherd" by William Butler Yeats:

THE woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy; Of old the world on dreaming fed; Grey Truth is now her painted toy;

From "The Spirit Medium" by William Butler Yeats:

Because of those new dead That come into my soul and escape Confusion of the bed, Or those begotten or unbegotten

From "TO THE WILLOW-TREE" by Robert Herrick:

When once the lover's rose is dead Or laid aside forlorn, Then willow-garlands, 'bout the head, Bedew'd with tears, are worn.

From "THE WIDOWS' TEARS; OR, DIRGE OF DORCAS" by Robert Herrick:

Thou being dead, The worsted thread

From "THE CRUEL MAID" by Robert Herrick:

When you shall see that I am dead, For pity let a tear be shed;

From "THE DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER:SUNG BY THE VIRGINS" by Robert Herrick:

No more, no more, since thou art dead, Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed;

From "THE BAD SEASON MAKES THE POET SAD" by Robert Herrick:

And once more yet, ere I am laid out dead, Knock at a star with my exalted head.

From "THE MAD MAID'S SONG" by Robert Herrick:

Pray hurt him not; though he be dead, He knows well who do love him; And who with green turfs rear his head, And who do rudely move him.

From ""Back To The Army Again" by Rudyard Kipling:

For the set o' the tunic's 'orrid." An' 'e sez to me, "Strike me dead, But I thought you was used to the business!" an' so 'e done what I said.

From "The Betrothed" by Rudyard Kipling:

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead, Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.

From "The Sea-Wife" by Rudyard Kipling:

The living and the dead; The good wife's sons come home again For her blessing on their head!

From ""Cleared"" by Rudyard Kipling:

But you -- you know -- ay, ten times more; the secrets of the dead, Black terror on the country-side by word and whisper bred,

From "The American Rebellion" by Rudyard Kipling:

Golden-rod by the pasture-wall When the columbine is dead, And sumach leaves that turn, in fall, Bright as the blood they shed.

From "White Horses" by Rudyard Kipling:

'Twixt tide and tide's returning Great store of newly dead, -- The bones of those that faced us, And the hearts of those that fled.

From "On The Death Of Mrs. Elizabeth Filmer. An Elegiacall Epitaph" by Richard Lovelace:

Their star extinct, their beauty dead, That the yong world to honour led;

From "Amyntor's Grove, His Chloris, Arigo, And Gratiana. An Elogie" by Richard Lovelace:

And may you, when one branch is dead, Graft such another in its stead,

From "I Am Like One That For Long Days Had Sate" by Robert Louis Stevenson:

And lo! the loved one was not there - was dead. Then would he watch no more; no more the sea With myriad vessels, sail by sail, perplex His eyes and mock his longing. Weary head,

From "On Now, Although The Year Be Done" by Robert Louis Stevenson:

Now, although the love be dead, Dead and gone; Hear me, O loved and cherished one, Give me still the hand that led,

From "Death, To The Dead For Evermore" by Robert Louis Stevenson:

And our sad spirits turn toward the dead; And the tired child, the body, longs for bed.

From "Line-Gang, The" by Robert Lee Frost:

They plant dead trees for living, and the dead They string together with a living thread.

From "Our Singing Strength" by Robert Lee Frost:

Next day the scene was piled and puffed and dead. The grass lay flattened under one great tread.

From "Sonnet XXXIII" by Edmund Spenser:

that mote enlarge her liuing prayses dead: But lodwick, this of grace to me aread: doe ye not thinck th'accomplishment of it, sufficient worke for one mans simple head,

From "Paul Revere's Ride" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, In their night encampment on the hill, Wrapped in silence so deep and still That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,

From "Paul Revere's Ride" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:

Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket ball. You know the rest. In the books you have read

From "Midnight Mass for the Dying Year" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:

And now the sweet day is dead; Cold in his arms it lies; No stain from its breath is spread Over the glassy skies,

From "Russian Fugitive, The" by William Wordsworth:

'Twas when the Parents, who had mourned So long the lost as dead, Beheld their only Child returned, The household floor to tread.

From "Peter Bell, A Tale" by William Wordsworth:

The man who had been four days dead, Head-foremost from the river's bed

From "Sailor's Mother, The" by William Wordsworth:

The ancient spirit is not dead; Old times, thought I, are breathing there; Proud was I that my country bred Such strength, a dignity so fair:

From "The Peasent's Confession" by Thomas Hardy:

The Guards' last column yielded; dykes of dead Lay between vale and ridge, As, thinned yet closing, faint yet fierce, they sped In packs to Genappe Bridge.

From "Sonnet VIII" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning:

Ask God who knows. For frequent tears have run The colors from my life, and left so dead And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done To give the same as pillow to thy head.

From "Valenciennes" by Thomas Hardy:

"We've fetched en back to quick from dead; But never more on earth while rose is red

From "Sonnet XXIII" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning:

Is it indeed so ? If I lay here dead, Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine ? And would the sun for thee more coldly shine Because of grave-damps falling round my head ?

From "Goody Blake and Harry Gill" by William Wordsworth:

Her evenings then were dull and dead: Sad case it was, as you may think, For very cold to go to bed; And then for cold not sleep a wink.

From "Guilt and Sorrow" by William Wordsworth:

Till one was found by stroke of violence dead, Whose body near our cottage chanced to lie; A dire suspicion drove us from our shed; In vain to find a friendly face we try,

From "Idiot Boy, The" by William Wordsworth:

The green bough motionless and dead: The Moon that shines above his head

From "Idiot Boy, The" by William Wordsworth:

Where he will stay till he is dead; Or, sadly he has been misled,

From "Thorn, The" by William Wordsworth:

And if 'twas born alive or dead, Far less could this with proof be said;

From "The Slow Nature" by Thomas Hardy:

--"But, Mistress Damon--I can swear Thy goodman John is dead! And soon th'lt hear their feet who bear His body to his bed."

From "Her Death And After" by Thomas Hardy:

From the vast Rotund and the neighboring dead When her husband followed; bowed; half-passed, With lip upcast; Then, halting, sullenly said:

From "Leipzig" by Thomas Hardy:

"A gulf was Lindenau; and dead Were fifties, hundreds, tens; And every current rippled red With Marshal's blood and men's.

From "She, To Him IV" by Thomas Hardy:

This love puts all humanity from me; I can but maledict her, pray her dead, For giving love and getting love of thee-- Feeding a heart that else mine own had fed!

From "Fountain, The: A Conversation" by William Wordsworth:

"And, Matthew, for thy children dead I'll be a son to thee!" At this he grasped my hand, and said, "Alas! that cannot be."

From "Night And Day" by Sidney Lanier:

The innocent, sweet Day is dead. Dark Night hath slain her in her bed.

From "Strange Jokes" by Sidney Lanier:

The German still, when one is dead, Cries out "Der Tod!" But, pilgrims, Christ will walk ahead And clear the road.

From "Psalm Of The West" by Sidney Lanier:

From Portugal, to take us: we are dead!' `Hold Westward, pilot,' calmly I replied. So when the last land down the horizon died, `Go back, go back!' they prayed: `our hearts are lead.' --

From "Psalm Of The West" by Sidney Lanier:

`Nay, look! Stout Harrington not yet dead!' He crooks his elbow, lifts his head.

From "Psalm Of The West" by Sidney Lanier:

Then breathed He softly on the dead: "Live Self! -- thou part, yet none, of Me; Dust for humility," He said, "And my warm breath for Charity.

From "Street Cries" by Sidney Lanier:

"Young Trade is dead, And swart Work sullen sits in the hillside fern And folds his arms that find no bread to earn, And bows his head.

From "The Symphony" by Sidney Lanier:

"O Trade! O Trade! would thou wert dead! The Time needs heart -- 'tis tired of head:

From "Barnacles" by Sidney Lanier:

For I am living but thou art dead; Thou drawest back, I strive ahead

From "Old Vicarage, The - Grantchester" by Rupert Brooke:

And felt the Classics were not dead, To glimpse a Naiad's reedy head,

From "Evelyn Hope" by Robert Browning:

Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed; She plucked that piece of geranium-flower,

From "Patriot, The" by Robert Browning:

Thus I entered, and thus I go! In triumphs, people have dropped down dead. ``Paid by the world, what dost thou owe ``Me?''---God might question; now instead,

From "Aix In Provence" by Robert Browning:

East, West, I looked. The lie was dead, And damned, and truth stood up instead.

From "The Burial of Love" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson:

Love is dead: His last arrow is sped;

From "Come Into the Garde, Maud" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson:

My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.

From "To E. Fitzgerald: Tiresias" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson:

Remembering all the golden hours Now silent, and so many dead, And him the last; and laying flowers, This wreath, above his honor'd head,

From "Lara" by George Gordon, Lord Byron:

Day glimmers on the dying and the dead, The cloven cuirass, and the helmless head;

From "Lara" by George Gordon, Lord Byron:

His face was mask'd the features of the dead, If dead it were, escaped the observer's dread;

From "Giaour, The" by George Gordon, Lord Byron:

He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of Death is fled,

From "Giaour, The" by George Gordon, Lord Byron:

Then lay me with the humblest dead, And, save the cross above my head,

From "Euthanasia" by George Gordon, Lord Byron:

When Time, or soon or late, shall bring The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, Oblivion! may thy languid wing Wave gently o'er my dying bed!

From "Bride of Abydos, The" by George Gordon, Lord Byron:

Thy Daughter's dead! Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam, The star hath set that shone on Helle's stream. What quench'd its ray? the blood that thou hast shed!

From "Thou Whose Spell Can Raise the Dead" by George Gordon, Lord Byron:

Thou whose spell can raise the dead, Bid the prophet's form appear. "Samuel, raise thy buried head! "King, behold the phantom seer!"

From "Vision of Judgment, The" by George Gordon, Lord Byron:

'No,' quoth the cherub; 'George the Third is dead.'

'And who is George the Third?' replied the apostle; 'What George? what Third?' 'The king of England,' said The angel. 'Well, he won't find kings to jostle

From "Mazeppa" by George Gordon, Lord Byron:

That nip the forest's foliage dead, Discoloured with a lifeless red,

From "Mazeppa" by George Gordon, Lord Byron:

Nor him nor me - and there we lay The dying on the dead! I little deemed another day Would see my houseless, helpless head.

From "Siege of Corinth, The" by George Gordon, Lord Byron:

And thought upon the glorious dead Who there in better cause had bled,

From "Siege of Corinth, The" by George Gordon, Lord Byron:

As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead, When they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed;

From "Siege of Corinth, The" by George Gordon, Lord Byron:

In masses by the fleshless dead: Here, throughout the siege, had been The Christians' chiefest magazine; To these a late-form'd train now led,

From "Siege of Corinth, The" by George Gordon, Lord Byron:

With barbarous blows they gash the dead, And lop the already lifeless head,

From "To L. H. B. (1894-1915 )" by Katherine Mansfield:

Last night for the first time since you were dead I walked with you, my brother, in a dream. We were at home again beside the stream Fringed with tall berry bushes, white and red.

From "Improvisatore, The" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge:

The certainty that struck Hope dead, Hath left Contentment in her stead :

From "The Ballad Of Reading Gaol" by Oscar Wilde:

And blood and wine were on his hands When they found him with the dead, The poor dead woman whom he loved, And murdered in her bed.

From "The Ballad Of Reading Gaol" by Oscar Wilde:

Nor, while the terror of his soul Tells him he is not dead, Cross his own coffin, as he moves Into the hideous shed.

From "Chanson" by Oscar Wilde:

For you three lovers of your hand (Green grass where a man lies dead)! For me three paces on the sand (Plant lilies at my head)!

From "Ave Imperatrix" by Oscar Wilde:

Peace, peace! we wrong the noble dead To vex their solemn slumber so; Though childless, and with thorn-crowned head, Up the steep road must England go,

From "The Dole Of The King's Daughter" by Oscar Wilde:

What do they there so stark and dead? (There is blood upon her hand) Why are the lilies flecked with red? (There is blood on the river sand.)

From "Waverley" by Joyce Kilmer:

The laureled wizard of the North appears! Who raised Prince Charlie's cohorts from the dead, Made Rose's mirth and Flora's noble tears, And formed that shining legion at whose head

From "St. Laurence" by Joyce Kilmer:

Within the broken Vatican The murdered Pope is lying dead. The soldiers of Valerian Their evil hands are wet and red.

From "The New School" by Joyce Kilmer:

And after the golden day has come and the war is at an end, A slab of bronze on the chapel wall will tell of the noble dead. And every name on that radiant list will be the name of a friend,

A name that shall through the centuries in grateful prayers be said.

From "Daphnis And Chloe" by Andrew Marvell:

As the Soul of one scarce dead, With the shrieks of Friends aghast, Looks distracted back in hast, And then streight again is fled.

From "Daphnis And Chloe" by Andrew Marvell:

Like the Gourmand Hebrew dead, While he Quailes and Manna fed,

From "A Poem Upon The Death Of O.C." by Andrew Marvell:

Then heavy Showres the winged Tempests dead, And pour the Deluge ore the Chaos head.

From "For Annie" by Edgar Allan Poe:

That you fancy me dead- And I rest so contentedly, Now, in my bed, (With her love at my breast)

From "On the Wire" by Robert W. Service:

The man whom I heard is dead. Now I can understand: A bullet hole in his head, A pistol gripped in his hand.

From "The City In The Sea" by Edgar Allan Poe:

Not the gaily-jewelled dead Tempt the waters from their bed;

From "Endymion (excerpts)" by John Keats:

We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read:

From "Honour's Martyr" by Emily Jane Bront:

False friends will launch their covert sneers; True friends will wish me dead; And I shall cause the bitterest tears That you have ever shed.

From "George" by Hilaire Belloc:

When help arrived, among the dead Were Cousin Mary, Little Fred,

From "Henry King" by Hilaire Belloc:

"Henry will very soon be dead.'' His Parents stood about his Bed

From "Youth and Calm" by Matthew Arnold:

And when this boon rewards the dead, Are all debts paid, has all been said?

From "Scholar-Gipsy, The" by Matthew Arnold:

Thou hadst one aim, one business, one desire; Else wert thou long since number'd with the dead! Else hadst thou spent, like other men, thy fire! The generations of thy peers are fled,

From "Obermann Once More" by Matthew Arnold:

"'Your creeds are dead, your rites are dead, Your social order too! Where tarries he, the Power who said: See, I make all things new?

From "Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse" by Matthew Arnold:

Wandering between two worlds, one dead, The other powerless to be born, With nowhere yet to rest my head, Like these, on earth I wait forlorn.

From "Goliath Of Gath" by Phillis Wheatly:

Goliath's sword then laid its master dead, And from the body hew'd the ghastly head;

From "On The Death Of Dr. Samuel Marshall" by Phillis Wheatly:

Thy Lucy sees thee mingle with the dead, And rends the graceful tresses from her head,

From "Apparition, The" by John Donne:

When by thy scorn, O murd'ress, I am dead And that thou think'st thee free From all solicitation from me, Then shall my ghost come to thy bed,

From "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by Thomas Stearns Eliot:

To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"-- If one, settling a pillow by her head, Should say: "That is not what I meant at all;

From "Recompense" by John McCrae:

Ere harvest time, upon earth's peaceful breast Each laid him down among the unreaping dead. "Labour hath other recompense than rest, Else were the toiler like the fool," I said;

From "Penance" by John McCrae:

Men pass my grave, and say, "'Twere well to sleep, Like such an one, amid the uncaring dead!" How should they know the vigils that I keep, The tears I shed?

From "Poem (Halleck monument dedication)" by Oliver Wendell Holmes:

Call not our Poet dead, Though on his turf we tread!

From "Poem (Halleck monument dedication)" by Oliver Wendell Holmes:

Count not our Poet dead! The stars shall watch his bed,

From "Smile, Smile, Smile" by Wilfred Owen:

It being certain war has just begun. Peace would do wrong to our undying dead, -- The sons we offered might regret they died If we got nothing lasting in their stead.

From "The Cherry Trees" by Edward Thomas:

The cherry trees bend over and are shedding, On the old road where all that passed are dead, Their petals, strewing the grass as for a wedding This early May morn when there is none to wed.

From "What Should I Say" by Sir Thomas Wyatt:

What should I say, Since faith is dead, And truth away From you is fled?

From "Teacher's Monologue, The" by Charlotte Bront:

In vain I try; I cannot sing; All feels so cold and dead; No wild distress, no gushing spring Of tears in anguish shed;

From "To Night" by Percy Bysshe Shelley:

Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon-- Sleep will come when thou art fled; Of neither would I ask the boon

From "When The Lamp Is Shattered" by Percy Bysshe Shelley:

When the lamp is shattered, The light in the dust lies dead; When the cloud is scattered, The rainbow's glory is shed;

From "The Three Enemies" by Christina Georgina Rossetti:

All else is His: Who, living, dead, For me lack'd where to lay His Head."

From "'Look at The Clock!' : Patty Morgan The Milkmaid's Story" by Richard Harris Barham:

Mr. Pryce, Mrs. Winifred Pryce being dead, Felt lonely, and moped; and one evening he said

From "Robin Hood, A Child." by Leigh Hunt:

"Gamelyn de Vere is dead, He changed but yesternight:" "Now make us way," the lady said, "To see that doleful sight."

From "Ghost, The" by Richard Harris Barham:

'Twas now the very witching time of night, When churchyards groan, and graves give up their dead, And many a mischievous enfranchised Sprite Had long since burst his bonds of stone or lead,

From "To Robert Batty, M.D., on His Giving Me a Lock of Milton's Hair" by Leigh Hunt:

There seems a love in hair, though it be dead. It is the gentlest, yet the strongest thread

From "Execution, The : A Sporting Anecdote Hon. Mr. Sucklethumbkin's Story" by Richard Harris Barham:

'Malibran's dead, Duvernay's fled,

From "Execution, The : A Sporting Anecdote Hon. Mr. Sucklethumbkin's Story" by Richard Harris Barham:

What was to be done?-- The man was dead! Nought could be done -- nought could be said;

From "Cynotaph, The" by Richard Harris Barham:

Of the elegant Dead, And no one's received who's not 'buried in lead:'

From "Amor Profanus" by Ernest Dowson:

In vain we stammered: from afar Our old desire shone cold and dead: That time was distant as a star, When eyes were bright and lips were red.

From "A Ballad of Burdens" by Algernon Charles Swinburne:

And say at dawn "Would God the day were dead." With weary days thou shalt be clothed and fed,

From "Pan the Fallen" by William Wilfred Campbell:

And the moon rose over the market, But Pan the beast was dead; While Pan the god lay silent there, With his strange, distorted head.

From "Living Lost, The" by William Cullen Bryant:

Weep, ye who sorrow for the dead, Thus breaking hearts their pain relieve; And graceful are the tears ye shed, And honoured ye who grieve.

From "My Native Land" by Sir Walter Scott:

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said,

From "I Walk'd the Other Day" by Henry Vaughan:

And warm the dead,

And by a sacred incubation fed

From "Elegy Written In A Country Church-Yard" by Thomas Gray:

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,

From "An Essay on Criticism" by Alexander Pope:

Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead; For fools rush in where angels fear t tread.

From "Death and the Lady" by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge:

As it were the Father of Sin I have hated the Father of the Dead, The slayer of my kin ; By the Father of the Living led,

From "The Mad Wanderer," by Amelia Opie:

And when to church we brought the dead, She came in ragged mourning drest; The coffin-plate she trembling read, Then laughing cried, "Poor Kate is blest!"