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THE WORM JOSEPH
(I am a worm and no man—David)
The worm is clad in plated mail And rides upon the envious Earth His power prevails and shall prevail When Death gleans in the fields of Birth
He sips the purple wine of kings From burnished skulls and bumper hearts, Of fat and famine years he sings And fills his granaries from the marts.
His brethren that have sold his name, Denied him to his ancient Sire, Shall seek him when they feel his fame Shall find him when they fear his fire.
But you, O Benjamin, beloved, Dove-like and young, with him shall sup And then departing unreproved Bear with you his divining cup.
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