The God of Scribes looked down and saw br The bitter band of seven, br Who had outraged his holy law br And lost their hope of Heaven: br Came Villon, petty thief and pimp, br And obscene Baudelaire, br And Byron with his letcher limp, br And Poe with starry stare. br br And Wilde who lived his hell on earth, br And Burns, the baudy bard, br And Francis Thompson, from his birth br Malevolently starred. . . . br As like a line of livid ghosts br They started to paradise, br The galaxy of Heaven's hosts br Looked down in soft surmise. br br Said God: "You bastards of my love, br You are my chosen sons; br Come, I will set you high above br These merely holy ones. br Your sins you've paid in gall and grief, br So to these radiant skies, br Seducer, drunkard, dopester, thief, br Immortally arise. br br I am your Father, fond and just, br And all your folly see; br Your beastiality and lust br I also know in me. br You did the task I gave to you . . . br Arise and sit beside br My Son, the best beloved, who br Was also crucified.