The Worm Joseph Poem by Joseph Mary Plunkett

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.

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.

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.

But you, O Benjamin, beloved,
Dove-like and young, with him shall sup
And then departing unreproved
Bear with you his divining cup.