WHAT is it? a speck in the distance, <br />A rumour that flies in the air, <br />Too faint to be met by resistance, <br />Too strong to be braved by despair. <br /> <br />Just whispered about the street-corners, <br />Just traced by the timorous pen; <br />Like some scandal breathed out by suborners, <br />Which poisons the spirit of men. <br /> <br />Where is it? but yesterday even <br />A man galloped in from the plain, <br />His eyes were a terrible leaven <br />Of horror, suspicion, and pain. <br /> <br />He galloped straight up to the Town House, <br />And none heard the news which he said; <br />Thank God for the miles he had ridden, <br />For the horse which he rode dropped dead! <br /> <br />The rumour grows darker and darker, <br />Each moment the agony swells; <br />Some say, ''Tis the trade of the doctors;' <br />And some, 'They have poisoned the wells.' <br /> <br />A threatening doom o'er the city, <br />It hangs like a terrible sword; <br />No man for his fellow has pity, <br />When both dread the curse of the Lord. <br /> <br />To-night there's a crowd in the market, <br />But scattered like leaves on the blast; <br />A moment may drive them asunder-- <br />For whom will this night be the last? <br /> <br />No wonder they start in their slumbers, <br />Or count every tremulous breath; <br />Alas! who can reckon the numbers <br />To be reaped in the harvest of Death, <br /> <br />When the fear that now floats like a vapour, <br />So shadowy, formless, and vague, <br />Is wrought up to a terrible presence, <br />And named, not in whispers, The Plague?<br /><br />Bessie Rayner Parkes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-black-death/
