Was dancing a hornpipe over the clock,
But before the gargoyles had time to mock
From his shoulder crowed St. Peter's cock.
"Kirikiree! Creative Love
That folds the emperor folds the dove.
No church is finished, though grand it be,
That lacks the beauty of charity.
Buttress your spire. Kirikiree!"
So our Emperor reared the spire anew,
Yon shaft of glory that cleaves the blue,