| The Worm Joseph |
| (I am a worm and no man—David) |
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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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