The sky is pure, the clouds are light, The moonbeams glitter cold and bright; O'er the wide landscape breathes no sigh; The sea reflects the star-gemm'd sky, And every beam of Heav'n's broad brow Glows brightly on the world below. But ah! the wing of death is spread; I hear the midnight murd'rers tread; -- I hear the Plague that walks at night, I mark its pestilential blight; I feel its hot and with'ring breath, It is the messenger of death! -- And can a scene so pure and fair Slumber beneath a baleful air? And can the stealing form of death Here wither with its blighting breath? Yes; and the slumb'rer feels its power At midnight's dark and silent hour; He feels the wild fire thro' his brain; He wakes; his frame is rack'd with pain; His eye half closed; his lip is dark; The sword of death hath done his work; That sallow cheek, that fever'd lip, That eye which burns but cannot sleep, That black parch'd tongue, that raging brain, All mark the monarch's baleful reign! Oh! for one pure, one balmy breath, To cool the sufferer's brow in death; Oh! for one wand'ring breeze of Heav'n; Oh that one moment's rest were giv'n! 'T is past; -- and hush'd the victim's prayer; The spirit was -- but is not there! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HERE LIES A LADY by JOHN CROWE RANSOM CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: 8. OF CONSTANCY by WILLIAM BASSE PSALM 43. JUDICA ME DEUS by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE CONTRAST; THE STORMY SIDE by LEVI BISHOP ARMISTICE DAY by ZELMA DUNNING BOWEN BY CANDLELIGHT by MARION BRINSON THE STREET OF THE MANY LITTLE LOVERS by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT |