"Death on the hills"
di Rosa Harriet Jeaffreson Newmarch (1857-1940)

Why o'er the dark'ning hill-slopes
Do dusky shadows creep?
Because the wind blows keenly there,
Or rainstorms lash and leap?
No wind blows chill upon them,
Nor are they lash'd by rain:
'Tis Death who rides across the hills
With all his shadowy train.
The old bring up the cortege,
In front the young folk ride,
And on Death's saddle in a row
The babes sit side by side.
The young folk lift their voices,
The old folk plead with Death:
"O let us take the village-road,
Or by the brook draw breath.
"There let the old drink water,
There let the young folk play,
And let the little children
Run and pluck the blossoms gay."
(Death speaks)
"I must not pass the village
Nor halt beside the rill,
For there the wives and mothers all
Their buckets take to fill.
"The wife might see her husband,
The mother see her son;
So close they'd cling - their claspings
Could never be undone."