The HyperTexts
The Best Princess Diana Poems: Tributes, Memorials and Elegies
These tribute poems are dedicated to the memory of Princess Diana―one
of the world's most beautiful, gracious and universally adored women. Also
known as Lady Diana Frances Spencer and the Princess of Wales, she was an Angel
of Compassion who worked to rid the world of landmines, homelessness,
illiteracy, cancer, AIDS, leprosy and leukemia, through the many charities she
supported with her money, time and personal involvement. Her marriage to Prince
Charles was celebrated by more than 750 million viewers, and her premature,
incredibly tragic death was mourned by billions, including Sir Elton John and
Bernie Taupin, who wrote:
Goodbye England's rose
May you ever grow in our hearts ...
Tribute poems dedicated to Princess Diana on this page have been written by Conrad Aiken,
Louise Bogan, Michael R. Burch, William Dunbar, Mary Lee Hall, Lewis Hamilton,
Ted Hughes, Ben Jonson, Andrew Motion, Percy Bysshe Shelley and Oscar Wilde.
Fairest Diana
by Michael R. Burch
Fairest Diana, princess of dreams,
born to be loved and yet distant and lone,
why did you linger—so solemn, so lovely—
an orchid ablaze in a crevice of stone?
Was not your heart meant for tenderest passions?
Surely your lips―for
wild kisses, not vows!
Why then did you languish, though lustrous, becoming
a pearl of enchantment cast before sows?
Fairest Diana, as fragile as lilac,
as willful as rainfall, as true as the rose;
how did a stanza of silver-bright verse
come to be bound in a book of dull prose?
Music When Soft Voices Die (To
—)
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory—
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the belovèd's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
Will There Be Starlight
for Princess Diana
by Michael R. Burch
Will there be starlight
tonight
while she gathers
damask
and lilac
and sweet-scented heathers?
And will she find flowers,
or will she find thorns
guarding the petals
of roses unborn?
Will there be starlight
tonight
while she gathers
seashells
and mussels
and albatross feathers?
And will she find treasure
or will she find pain
at the end of this rainbow
of moonlight on rain?
Turn Again To Life
by Mary Lee Hall
read by Lady Sarah McCorquodale, eldest sister of Princess Diana, at her funeral
If I should die and leave you here awhile,
Be not like others, sore undone, who keep
Long vigils by the silent dust, and weep.
For my sake—turn again to life and smile,
Nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do
Something to comfort other hearts than thine.
Complete those dear unfinished tasks of mine
And I, perchance, may therein comfort you.
Hymn To Diana
by
Ben Jonson
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.
Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heaven to clear when day did close:
Bless us then with wishèd sight,
Goddess excellently bright.
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal-shining quiver;
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever;
Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright.
Sweet Rose of Virtue
by William Dunbar [1460-1525]
loose translation by
Michael R. Burch
Sweet rose of virtue and of gentleness,
delightful lily of youthful wantonness,
richest in bounty and in beauty clear
and in every virtue that is held most dear―
except only that death is merciless.
Into your garden, today, I followed you;
there I saw flowers of freshest hue,
both white and red, delightful to see,
and wholesome herbs, waving resplendently―
yet everywhere, no odor but rue.
I fear that March with his last arctic blast
has slain my fair rose of pallid and gentle cast,
whose piteous death does my heart such pain
that, if I could, I would compose her roots again―
so comforting her bowering leaves have been.
Bread and Music
by Conrad Aiken
Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.
Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, belovèd,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.
For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,—
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.
Requiescat
by Oscar Wilde
Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone,
She is at rest.
Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life's buried here,
Heap earth upon it.
Mythology
by Andrew Motion
Earth’s axle creaks; the year jolts on; the trees
begin to slip their brittle leaves, their flakes of rust;
and darkness takes the edge off daylight, not
because it wants to—never that. Because it must.
And you? Your life was not your own to keep
or lose. Beside the river, swerving underground,
the future tracked you, snapping at your heels:
Diana, breathless, hunted by your own quick hounds.
Song For The Last Act
by Louise Bogan
Now that I have your face by heart, I look
Less at its features than its darkening frame
Where quince and melon, yellow as young flame,
Lie with quilled dahlias and the shepherd's crook.
Beyond, a garden. There, in insolent ease
The lead and marble figures watch the show
Of yet another summer loath to go
Although the scythes hang in the apple trees.
Now that I have your face by heart, I look.
Now that I have your voice by heart, I read
In the black chords upon a dulling page
Music that is not meant for music's cage,
Whose emblems mix with words that shake and bleed.
The staves are shuttled over with a stark
Unprinted silence. In a double dream
I must spell out the storm, the running stream.
The beat's too swift. The notes shift in the dark.
Now that I have your voice by heart, I read.
Now that I have your heart by heart, I see
The wharves with their great ships and architraves;
The rigging and the cargo and the slaves
On a strange beach under a broken sky.
O not departure, but a voyage done!
The bales stand on the stone; the anchor weeps
Its red rust downward, and the long vine creeps
Beside the salt herb, in the lengthening sun.
Now that I have your heart by heart, I see.
6 September 1997
by Ted Hughes
Mankind is many rivers
That only want to run.
Holy Tragedy and Loss
Make the many One.
Mankind is a Holy, crowned
Mother and her Son.
For worship, for mourning:
God is here, is gone.
Love is broken on the Cross.
The Flower on the Gun.
Goodbye England’s Rose
by Bernie Taupin and Sir Elton John
Goodbye England's rose
May you ever grow in our hearts
You were the grace that placed itself
Where lives were torn apart
You called out to our country
And you whispered to those in pain
Now you belong to heaven
And the stars spell out your name
And it seems to me you lived your life
Like a candle in the wind
Never fading with the sunset
When the rain set in
And your footsteps will always fall here
Along England's greenest hills
Your candle's burned out long before
Your legend ever will
Loveliness we've lost
These empty days without your smile
This torch we'll always carry
For our nation's golden child
And even though we try
The truth brings us to tears
All our words cannot express
The joy you brought us through the years
And it seems to me you lived your life
Like a candle in the wind
Never fading with the sunset
When the rain set in
And your footsteps will always fall here
Along England's greenest hills
Your candle's burned our long before
Your legend ever will
Goodbye England's rose
May you ever grow in our hearts
You were the grace that placed itself
Where lives were torn apart
Goodbye England's rose
From a country lost without your soul
Who'll miss the wings of your compassion
More than you'll ever know
And it seems to me you lived your life
Like a candle in the wind
Never fading with the sunset
When the rain set in
And your footsteps will always fall here
Along England's greenest hills
Your candle's burned out long before
Your legend ever will
She Was Very Strange, and Beautiful
for Princess Diana
by Michael R. Burch
She was very strange, and beautiful,
like a violet mist enshrouding hills
before night falls
when the hoot owl calls
and the cricket trills
and the envapored moon hangs low and full.
She was very strange, in a pleasant way,
as the hummingbird
flies madly still,
so I drank my fill
of her every word.
What she knew of love, she demurred to say.
She was meant to leave, as the wind must blow,
as the sun must set,
as the rain must fall.
Though she gave her all,
we had nothing left . . .
yet we smiled, bereft, in her receding glow.
The Peripheries of Love
for Princess Diana
by Michael R. Burch
Through waning afternoons we glide
the watery peripheries of love.
A silence, a quietude falls.
Above us—the sagging pavilions of clouds.
Below us—rough pebbles slowly worn smooth
grate in the gentle turbulence
of yesterday’s forgotten rains.
Later, the moon like a virgin
lifts her stricken white face
and the waters rise
toward some unfathomable shore.
We sway gently in the wake
of what stirs beneath us,
yet leaves us unmoved ...
curiously motionless,
as though twilight might blur
the effects of proximity and distance,
as though love might be near—
as near
as a single cupped tear of resilient dew
or a long-awaited face.
The Aery Faery Princess
for Princess Diana
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a princess lighter than fluff
made of such gossamer stuff—
the down of a thistle, butterflies’ wings,
the faintest high note the hummingbird sings,
moonbeams on garlands, stands of bright hair ...
I think she’s just you when you’re floating on air.
I Pray Tonight
for Princess Diana
by Michael R. Burch
I pray tonight
the starry light
might
surround you.
I pray
by day
that, come what may,
no dark thing confound you.
I pray ere tomorrow
an end to your sorrow.
May angels' white chorales
sing, and astound you.
Princess Diana's Funeral Service
As the funeral procession moved to the Sacrarium, the Choir sang the Sentences:
I am the Resurrection and the life, saith the Lord; he that believeth in me,
though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me
shall never die.
(St John 11: 25-26)
I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon
the earth; and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh
shall I see God; whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and
not another.
(Job 19: 25-27)
We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.
The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.
(1 Timothy 6: 7; Job 1: 21)
Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts; shut not thy merciful ears unto
our prayer; but spare us, Lord most holy, O God most mighty, O holy and most
merciful Saviour, thou most worthy Judge eternal, suffer us not, at our last
hour, for any pains of death, to fall from thee. Amen.
(Book of Common Prayer)
I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me, Write, From henceforth blessed are
the dead which die in the Lord; even so saith the Spirit; for they rest from
their labours.
(Revelations 14: 13)
The congregation then sang the hymn:
I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above,
entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love:
the love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,
that lays upon the altar the dearest and the best;
the love that never falters, the love that pays the price,
the love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice.
And there's another country, I've heard of long ago,
most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know;
we may not count her armies, we may not see her King;
her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering;
and soul by soul and silently her shining bounds increase,
and her ways are ways of gentleness and all her paths are peace.
The first reading was by the Princess's eldest sister, Lady Sarah McCorquodale:
If I should die and leave you here awhile,
Be not like others, sore undone, who keep
Long vigils by the silent dust, and weep.
For my sake—turn again to life and smile,
Nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do
Something to comfort other hearts than thine.
Complete those dear unfinished tasks of mine
And I, perchance, may therein comfort you.
After the reading, the BBC Singers, together with the soprano Lynne Dawson, sang
extracts from Verdi's Requiem:
Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna, in die illa
tremenda quando coeli movendi sunt, et terra:
dum veneris judicare saeculum per ignem.
Tremens factus sum ego et timeo, dum
discussio venerit, atque ventura ira. Dies illa,
dies irae, calamitatis et miseriae, dies magna et
amara valde. Requiem aeternam dona eis
Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Deliver me, O Lord, from eternal death in that
dread day when the heavens and the earth shall
be shaken, and you will come to judge the
world by fire. I tremble in awe of the judgement
and the coming wrath. Day of wrath, day of
calamity and woe, great and exceeding bitter
day. Rest eternal grant unto them, O Lord, and
let perpetual light shine upon them.
All then stood to sing the hymn:
The King of love my Shepherd is,
whose goodness faileth never;
I nothing lack if I am his
and he is mine for ever.
Where streams of living water flow
my ransomed soul he leadeth,
and where the verdant pastures grow
with food celestial feedeth.
Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
but yet in love he sought me,
and on his shoulder gently laid,
and home rejoicing brought me.
In death's dark vale I fear no ill
with thee, dear Lord, beside me;
thy rod and staff my comfort still,
thy cross before to guide me.
Thou spread'st a table in my sight;
thy unction grace bestoweth;
and O what transports of delight
from thy pure chalice floweth!
And so through all the length of days
thy goodness faileth never:
good Shepherd, may I sing thy praise
within thy house for ever.
After this the Prime Minister, the Right Honourable Tony Blair, MP, read from 1
Corinthians 13:
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not love, I am
become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of
prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all
faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not love, I am nothing.
And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to
be burned,
and have not love, it profiteth me nothing. Love suffereth long, and is
kind; love envieth not; love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not
behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no
evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in truth; beareth all things,
believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Love never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether
there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish
away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is
perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a
child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see
through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then
shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, love, these
three; but the greatest of these is love.
Following the reading, Elton John sang a special arrangement of his song Candle
In The Wind:
Goodbye England's rose;
may you ever grow in our hearts.
You were the grace that placed yourself
where lives were torn apart.
You called out to our country,
and you whispered to those in pain.
Now you belong to heaven,
and the stars spell out your name.
And it seems to me you lived your life
like a candle in the wind:
never fading with the sunset
when the rain set in.
And your footsteps will always fall here,
along England's greenest hills;
your candle's burned out long before
your legend ever will.
Loveliness we've lost;
these empty days without your smile.
This torch we'll always carry
for our nation's golden child.
And even though we try,
the truth brings us to tears;
all our words cannot express
the joy you brought us through the years.
Goodbye England's rose,
from a country lost without your soul,
who'll miss the wings of your compassion
more than you'll ever know.
Then followed The Tribute by the Princess's brother, The Earl Spencer:
I stand before you today the representative of a family in grief, in a country
in mourning before a world in shock. We are all united not only in our desire to
pay our respects to Diana but rather in our need to do so. For such was her
extraordinary appeal that the tens of millions of people taking part in this
service all over the world via television and radio who never actually met her,
feel that they too lost someone close to them in the early hours of Sunday
morning. It is a more remarkable tribute to Diana than I can ever hope to offer
her today.
Diana was the very essence of compassion, of duty, of style, of beauty. All over
the world she was a symbol of selfless humanity. All over the world, a
standard-bearer for the rights of the truly downtrodden, a very British girl who
transcended nationality. Someone with a natural nobility who was classless and
who proved in the last year that she needed no royal title to continue to
generate her particular brand of magic.
Today is our chance to say thank you for the way you brightened our lives, even
though God granted you but half a life. We will all feel cheated always that you
were taken from us so young and yet we must learn to be grateful that you came
along at all. Only now that you are gone do we truly appreciate what we are now
without, and we want you to know that life without you is very, very difficult.
We have all despaired at your loss over the past week and only the strength of
the message you gave us through your years of giving has afforded us the
strength to move forward.
There is a temptation to rush to canonise your memory; there is no need to do
so. You stand tall enough as a human being of unique qualities not to need to be
seen as a saint. Indeed, to sanctify your memory would be to miss out on the
very core of your being, your wonderfully mischievous sense of humour with a
laugh that bent you double. Your joy for life transmitted wherever you took your
smile and the sparkle in those unforgettable eyes. Your boundless energy which
you could barely contain.
But your greatest gift was your intuition, and it was a gift you used wisely.
This is what underpinned all your other wonderful attributes and if we look to
analyse what it was about you that had such a wide appeal we find it in your
instinctive feel for what was really important in all our lives. Without your
God-given sensitivity we would be immersed in greater ignorance at the anguish
of AIDS and HIV sufferers, the plight of the homeless, the isolation of lepers,
the random destruction of landmines. Diana explained to me once that it was her
innermost feelings of suffering that made it possible for her to connect with
her constituency of the rejected. And here we come to another truth about her.
For all the status, the glamour, the applause, Diana remained throughout a very
insecure person at heart, almost childlike in her desire to do good for others
so she could release herself from deep feelings of unworthiness of which her
eating disorders were merely a symptom. The world sensed this part of her
character and cherished her for her vulnerability whilst admiring her for her
honesty.
The last time I saw Diana was on July 1, her birthday, in London, when typically
she was not taking time to celebrate her special day with friends but was guest
of honour at a special charity fund-raising evening. She sparkled of course, but
I would rather cherish the days I spent with her in March when she came to visit
me and my children in our home in South Africa. I am proud of the fact that
apart from when she was on display meeting President Mandela we managed to
contrive to stop the ever-present paparazzi from getting a single picture of her—that meant a lot to her.
These were days I will always treasure. It was as if we had been transported
back to our childhood when we spent such an enormous amount of time together—the two youngest in the family. Fundamentally she had not changed at all from
the big sister who mothered me as a baby, fought with me at school and endured
those long train journeys between our parents' homes with me at weekends. It is
a tribute to her levelheadedness and strength that despite the most bizarre-like
life imaginable after her childhood, she remained intact, true to herself.
There is no doubt that she was looking for a new direction in her life at this
time. She talked endlessly of getting away from England, mainly because of the
treatment that she received at the hands of the newspapers. I don't think she
ever understood why her genuinely good intentions were sneered at by the media,
why there appeared to be a permanent quest on their behalf to bring her down. It
is baffling.
My own and only explanation is that genuine goodness is threatening to those at
the opposite end of the moral spectrum. It is a point to remember that of all
the ironies about Diana, perhaps the greatest was this—a girl given the name
of the ancient goddess of hunting was, in the end, the most hunted person of the
modern age.
She would want us today to pledge ourselves to protecting her beloved boys
William and Harry from a similar fate and I do this here, Diana, on your behalf.
We will not allow them to suffer the anguish that used regularly to drive you to
tearful despair.
And beyond that, on behalf of your mother and sisters, I pledge that we, your
blood family, will do all we can to continue the imaginative way in which you
were steering these two exceptional young men so that their souls are not simply
immersed by duty and tradition but can sing openly as you planned.
We fully respect the heritage into which they have both been born and will
always respect and encourage them in their royal role but we, like you,
recognise the need for them to experience as many different aspects of life as
possible to arm them spiritually and emotionally for the years ahead. I know you
would have expected nothing less from us.
William and Harry, we all care desperately for you today. We are all chewed up
with the sadness at the loss of a woman who was not even our mother. How great
your suffering is, we cannot even imagine.
I would like to end by thanking God for the small mercies he has shown us at
this dreadful time. For taking Diana at her most beautiful and radiant and when
she had joy in her private life. Above all we give thanks for the life of a
woman I am so proud to be able to call my sister, the unique, the complex, the
extraordinary and irreplaceable Diana whose beauty, both internal and external,
will never be extinguished from our minds.
The congregation then sang a hymn by St Francis of Assisi:
Make me a channel of your peace:
where there is hatred let me bring your love,
where there is injury, your pardon, Lord,
and where there's doubt, true faith in you:
O Master grant that I may never seek
so much to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved, as to love with all my soul!
Make me a channel of your peace:
where there's despair in life let me bring hope,
where there is darkness, only light,
and where there's sadness, ever joy:
Make me a channel of your peace:
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
in giving of ourselves that we receive,
and in dying that we're born to eternal life.
Make me a channel of your peace:
where there is hatred let me bring your love,
where there is injury, your pardon, Lord,
and where there's doubt, true faith in you.
Prayers were then led by The Archbishop of Canterbury, the Most Reverend and
Right Honourable Dr George Carey, beginning with the following prayer for Diana,
Princess of Wales:
We give thanks to God for Diana, Princess of Wales; for her sense of joy and for
the way she gave so much to so many people.
Lord, we thank you for Diana, whose life touched us all and for all those
memories of her that we treasure. We give thanks for those qualities and
strengths that endeared her to us; for her vulnerability; for her radiant and
vibrant personality; for her ability to communicate warmth and compassion; for
her ringing laugh; and above all for her readiness to identify with those less
fortunate in our nation and the world.
Lord of the loving: hear our prayer.
We pray for those most closely affected by her death: for Prince William and
Prince Harry who mourn the passing of their dearly loved mother; for her family,
especially for her mother, her brother and her sisters.
Lord, we thank you for the precious gift of family life, for all human
relationships and for the strength we draw from one another. Have compassion on
those for whom this parting brings particular pain and the deepest sense of
loss. Casting their cares on you, may they know the gentleness of your presence
and the consolation of your love.
Lord of the bereaved: hear our prayer.
There then followed prayers for the Princess's family; for the Royal family, for
all in mourning and for the Princess's life and work:
The Princess will be especially missed by the many charities with which she
identifed herself. We recall those precious images: the affectionate cuddle of
children in hospital; that touch of the young man dying of AIDS; her compassion
for those maimed through the evil of land mines—and many more.
Lord, we pray for all who are weak, poor and powerless in this country and
throughout the world; the sick, among them Trevor Rees-Jones [the injured
bodyguard]; the maimed and all whose lives are damaged. We thank you for the way
that Diana became a beacon of hope and a source of strength for so many. We
commend to you all those charities that she supported. Strengthen the resolve of
those who work for them to continue the good work begun with her.
Lord of the suffering: hear our prayer.
The prayers concluded with the offering of a prayer for the congregation. The
choristers then sang An Air From County Derry:
I would be true, for there are those that trust me.
I would be pure, for there are those that care.
I would be strong, for there is much to suffer.
I would be brave, for there is much to dare.
I would be friend of all, the foe, the friendless.
I would be giving, and forget the gift,
I would be humble, for I know my weakness,
I would look up, laugh, love and live.
The congregation then sang the great Welsh hymn Cwm Rhondda:
Guide me, O thou great Redeemer,
pilgrim through this barren land;
I am weak, but thou art mighty;
hold me with thy powerful hand:
bread of heaven,
feed me now and evermore.
Open now the crystal fountain
whence the healing stream doth flow;
let the fiery cloudy pillar
lead me all my journey through:
strong deliverer,
be thou still my strength and shield.
When I tread the verge of Jordan,
bid my anxious fears subside;
death of death, and hell's destruction,
land me safe on Canaan's side:
songs and praises
I will ever give to thee.
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