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.