Epitaphs

An epitaph in an old Moravian cemetery reads thus:

Remember, friend, as you pass by,
As you are now, so once was I;
As I am now thus you must be,
So be prepared to follow me.

There had been written underneath in pencil, presumably by some wag:

To follow you I'm not content
Till I find out which way you went.

Unknown

The identity of this poet is not known. Their works, which are often of significant historical or cultural value, have been attributed to 'Unknown'. This designation is commonly used when the creator of works, ranging from ancient texts to more modern writings, remains anonymous or uncredited. Despite the lack of personal details, the impact and importance of these works endure, offering insight into the eras and cultures from which they originated.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. CCCVIII. Games.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Domestic Relations

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CCCCXX. Jingles.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CCCCLXXI. Love And Matrimony.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

English

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Epitaphs

I thought it mushroom when I found
    It in the woods, forsaken;
But since I sleep beneath this mound,
    I must have been mistaken.

Unknown

A Nameless Epitaph

This sentence have I left behind:
An aching body, and a mind
Not wholly clear, nor wholly blind,
Too keen to rest, too weak to find,
That travails sore, and brings forth wind,
Are Gods worst portion to mankind.

Another
Ask not my name, O friend!
That Being only, which hath known each man
From the beginning, can
Remember each unto the end

Matthew Arnold

Epitaph

Mortal! whoe'er thou art, that passest by,
Stop, and behold this stone with heedful eye!
Here lies a Youth, whom Death's resistless power,
In health's full vigour, at the festal hour,
All unprepared, alas! to meet his doom,
Snatch'd suddenly to an untimely tomb.

Mortal take heed! in awful silence think,
Thou stand'st upon Eternity's dread brink;
O listen to Religion's warning cry!
'Man, know thy nature, and prepare to die!'

Thomas Oldham

Epitaph

Stop, Christian passer-by: Stop, child of God,
And read, with gentle breast. Beneath this sod
A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he
O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.
That he who many a year with toil of breath
Found death in life, may here find life in death:
Mercy for praise, to be forgiven for fame
He ask'd, and hoped through Christ. Do thou the same.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Epitaph.

As a boy, reserved and naughty;
As a youth, a coxcomb and haughty;
As a man, for action inclined;
As a greybeard, fickle in mind.
Upon thy grave will people read:
This was a very man, indeed!

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Epitaphs III. O Thou Who Movest Onward With A Mind

O thou who movest onward with a mind
Intent upon thy way, pause, though in haste!
'Twill be no fruitless moment. I was born
Within Savona's walls, of gentle blood.
On Tiber's banks my youth was dedicate
To sacred studies; and the Roman Shepherd
Gave to my charge Urbino's numerous flock.
Well did I watch, much laboured, nor had power
To escape from many and strange indignities;
Was smitten by the great ones of the world,
But did not fall; for Virtue braves all shocks,
Upon herself resting immoveably.
Me did a kindlier fortune then invite
To serve the glorious Henry, King of France,
And in his hands I saw a high reward
Stretched out for my acceptance, but Death came.
Now, Reader, learn from this my fate, how false,
How treacherous to her promise, is the wor...

William Wordsworth