Devourer Of Nations

“Strength shall be thrust to the Eater, And down to the Strong One, sweet.” Was ever a proverb neater, A phrasing more apt, or meeter, To fix on our Course-Completer As we end Life’s beat?

You’ll decorate quite the scarlet And secret hall of his tongue— With your clasped hands marble and chilly, And your face like a frozen lily— For Death is a luscious varlet, And likes maids young!

So there’s the end of it, Nelly! Of you and your purple hat! And I, your impotent Shelley, With czars and pariahs smelly, Shall tapestry well his belly, That gray, round Rat!