First the clouds were in a heap Till even sheep could not sleep; Then the palace of platinum bullion Lost a shingle and was down a million; St Peter loitering at the gate Had no new angels to berate; Gabriel tossed his trumpet aside, Sad it tootled unamplified; An angel's anger at a broken harp Is more melancholy than sharp; Sunshine seemed insult above the rain; The gowns, though clean, were plainly plain; The heavenly host and lordly train Were just a parade by another name.