Mac Dhoul

I saw them all,
I could have laughed out loud
To see them at their capers;
That serious, solemn-footed, weighty crowd
Of angels, or say resurrected drapers:
Each with a thin flame swinging round his head,
With lilting wings and eyes of holy dread,
And curving ears strained for the great foot-fall,
And not a thought of sin — . . .
I don't know how I kept the laughter in.

For I was there,
Unknown, unguessed at, snug,
In a rose tree's branchy spurt,
With two weeks' whisker blackening lug to lug,
With tattered breeks and only half a shirt.

Swollen fit to burst with laughter at the sight
Of those dull angels drooping left and right
Along the towering throne, each in a scare
To hear His foot advance
Huge from the cloud behind, all in a trance.

And suddenly,
As silent as a ghost,
I jumped out from the bush,
Went scooting through the glaring, nerveless host
All petrified, all gaping in a hush :
Came to the throne and, nimble as a rat,
Hopped up it, squatted close, and there I sat,
Squirming with laughter till I had to cry,
To see Him standing there

Frozen with all His angels in a stare 1
He raised His hand,
His hand! 'twas like a sky!
Gripped me in half a finger,

Flipped me round and sent me spinning high
Through the hot planets: faith, I didn't linger
To scratch myself, and then adown I sped
Scraping old moons and twisting heels and head
A chuckle in the void till . . . here I stand
As naked as a brick,
I'll sing the Peeler and the Goat in half a tick.

The Hill of Vision [1912]