Here in the track of a thunderbolt from the nethernmost smithy hurled,
With the groan of an ancient passion rent from the wreck of a shattered world,
In the white-hot pincers of BAAL borne through cycles of agony,
Lit by the Pit's red wrath there came the Soul of a Sundered Flea.
And all that company started back; first AZRAEL grimly smiled,
The smile that an East-End Coster smiles, by a stout policeman riled;
And BUDDHA made no remark at all, but nodded his heavy head,
Like a boy who has eaten too much dessert, and wants to be put to bed.
And the Muses Nine, as they stood in line, they shuddered and turned to go.
"A joke's a joke, but I can't bear fleas," said CLIO to ERATO.