Classic Poem

Now of the hue of ashes are the Whites;
And they go following now after the kind
Of creatures we call crabs, which, as some find,
Will only seek their natural food o' nights.
All day they hide; their flesh has such sore frights
Lest Death be come for them on every wind,
Lest now the Lion's wrath be so inclined
That they may never set their sin to rights.
Guelf were they once, and now are Ghibelline:
Nothing but rebels henceforth be they named,—
State-foes, as are the Uberti, every one.
Behold, against the Whites all men must sign
Some judgement whence no pardon can be claim'd
Excepting they were offered to Saint John.