Classic Poem

When dark and deafening skies are bowed
About my head I stand
Straight, ere the tavern rafters fall,
With the wine cup in my hand.
Drink, ere the thunder rend the roof,
Drink, ere it break the bars,
The toast that maketh him that drink
Stronger than all the stars.

To the farthest bird of the heavens
To the smallest fish of the sea,
To the sign of the falling turret
To the sign of the flowering tree.

Wrapped in the dark rains cloak of night
Under the dark rain's rod,
A nameless man: a broken man
Stands up and drinks to God.

High in the wreck I held the cup,
I clutched my rusty sword.
I cocked my tattered feather
For the glory of the Lord.
Bodies and souls,
Evil things and divine
Seas and stars and systems,
I drank them with the wine.

Brute and devil and death itself,
Even death, where I stood
It is so darkly sealed and hid
It must be passing good.