Blomfield Jackson, Once a Week, Series 1, Volume VIII…
“ Death ever strikes in cruel scorning The fairest flowers; thy rose so cherished, Thy rose, that like the rest hath perished, Bloomed but one morning! Black death, our little life’s span weighing, Sternly works out his dread commission, And spurning peers’ or pawns’ petition, Disdains our praying. Thou weepest, father! There is weeping In lonely homes, where Squalor crouches. Hosts cannot banish Death from couches Where kings lie sleeping. ”
