Classic Poem

A poet, pallid and perverse,
With witless love and watery curse
Rose up to Heaven with hosts sublime
Of the insatiable time.
He rent the angels' cohorts through
And broke Heaven's blazonry of blue,
And even more he cried, “What ban
Can Jesus give, who was a man?”
The last red guard was fighting still
Against the jeering Prince of Nil,
And as he rushed across the bay
The insulted lord of star and spray
Lifted his head, “Thou sayest true—
I was a man: but what are you?”