Classic Poem

A raven flapped o'er the rich man's roof,
O'er golden turrets and white walls proof.
And the rich man looked on the blackening sign
From his drowsy lamp and his fiery wine:
And he thought of the red blood, fierce with sin,
That gleamed in the cup and the wine therein.
He thought of the mad tears gathered up,
To fill the glory that filled the cup.
He thought of the dim wine's secret red,
And the men that struggle and scream for bread,
And he gazed and murmured the bird to see,
" God feeds the raven, but men feed me. "
Reigns and revels are gone and past,
Shall not the good time come at last?

A wild flower flamed at the rich man's feet,
For the fitful showers and the shines to greet
It had climbed its course from the riven down,
Till it ringed its brow with a glory-crown.
And the rich man gazed on the wild-eyed flower,
In his weight of robes, like a golden tower;
And he thought of the gaunt hands, fierce with sweat,
That netted the garb in a lustrous net.
He thought of the worn eyes, blind with pain,
That watched the web as it waxed amain;
He thought of the weaver's labouring breath,
And the nets that drag to a nameless death,
And he lifted his voice, the flower to see,
" God clothes the lilies, but men clothe me. "
Reigns and revels are gone and past,
Shall not the good time come at last?