Of fear, we start from sleep, to find the choking weight
Of those blue, bony fingers on the throat;—
To meet those stony eyes that glare and gloat
On victims who, fore-armed, had struggled with their fate.
We run this way and that; we cling to all that come
With nostrum or defence; and as we fall
We curse the watchers too, and ask, "Why were ye dumb?
Why waked ye not the sleepers with your call?
Why urged ye not the warriors to the wall?"
Meanwhile to the Plague's breath lives helplessly succumb.