16th Nov 2019
Why should their foolish bands, their hopeless hearses
Blot the perpetual festival of day?
Ravens, for prosperously-boded curses
Returning thanks, might offer such array.
Heaven comfort sends, but harry it away,
Gather the sooty plumage from Death's wings
And the poor corse impale with it and fray
Far from its head an angel's hoverings,
And count the rosy cross with bann'd disastrous things.
• Gerard Manley Hopkins