Tuesday, September 18, 2018 Text is available under the CC BY-SA 3.0 licence.

Blair Hugh

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How shocking must thy summons be, O Death!
To him that is at ease in his possessions!
Who, counting on long years of pleasure here,
Is quite unfurnished for the world to come.
In that dread moment, how the frantic soul
Raves round the walls of her clay tenement;
Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help;
But shrieks in vain.
--
P. 175.

 
Blair Hugh

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Death!
Plop.
The barges down in the river flop.
Flop, plop,
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The wind shrieks, the wind grieves;
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Not louder shrieks to pitying heav'n are cast,
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Now kiss, and think that there are really those,
My own high-bosom'd beauty, who increase
Vain gold, vain lore, and yet might choose our way!
Through many years they toil; then on a day
They die not, for their life was death, but cease;
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