When London's Plague, that day by day enrolled His thousands dead, nor deigned his rage to abate Till grass was green in silent Bishopsgate, Had come and passed like thunder, -- still, 'tis told, The monster, driven to earth, in hovels old And haunts obscure, though dormant, lingered late, Till the dread Fire, one roaring wave of fate, Rose, and swept clean his last retreat and hold. In Europe live the dregs of Plague to-day, Dregs of full many an ancient Plague and dire, -- Old wrongs, old lies of ages blind and cruel. What if alone the world-war's world-wide fire Can purge the ambushed pestilence away? Yet woe to him that idly lights the fuel! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MOTHER WATCH by EDGAR ALBERT GUEST THE FIVE STUDENTS by THOMAS HARDY THE HOUR OF DEATH by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS ENVOY, TO 'MORE SONGS FROM VAGABONDIA' by RICHARD HOVEY QUATRAIN: SPENDTHRIFT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH IN REMEMBRANCE by ADRA CAROLINE BATCHELDER |