Before Michael’s Last Fight

The lightning quivers up in Gabriel’s hand,
Whetting his sword on a bleak ridge of cloud,
And all the stars of hell are crying loud
At the bright insult of that sparking brand.
The demon-torn and devastated land
Smokes like a field of salt wild fire has plowed,
Athwart it towers Satan, thunder-browed,
Black at his side his Princely Evils stand.

After our fated triumph, some will drink,
Those who had girls will kiss the girls they had;
But I shall wander on the starry brink
And feel divine, and, beautifully sad,
Sing my one song about you to the void;
And make the angels horribly annoyed.