"Listen, the last stroke of death's noon has struck -- The plague is come," a gnashing Madman said, And laid him down straightway upon his bed. His writhed hands did at the linen pluck; Then all is over. With a careless chuck Among his fellows he is cast. How sped His spirit matters little: many dead Make men hard-hearted. -- "Place him on the truck. Go forth into the burial-ground and find Room at so much a pitful for so many. One thing is to be done; one thing is clear: Keep thou back from the hot unwholesome wind, That it infect not thee." Say, is there any Who mourneth for the multitude dead here? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE AND DEATH by SARA TEASDALE EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 8. BE QUICK AND SURE by PHILIP AYRES TO MISS F. B. ON ASKING FOR MRS. BARBAULD'S LOVE AND TIME by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD INVOCATION by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE AN EMISSARY TO HEAVEN by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |