Reuben's Brethren

The Skull in the Clouds or The Mercenary's Creed

Drain the cup while the ale is bright, Brief truce to remorse and sorrow! I drink the health of my friend tonight- I may cut his throat tomorrow.

Tonight I fling a curse in the cup For the foe whose lines we sundered- I may ride in his ranks when the sun comes up And die for the flag I plundered.

Kisses I drank in the blaze of noon, At eve may be bitter as scorning- And I go in the light of a mocking moon To the woman I cursed this morning.

For deep in my soul the old ways brood- And I come of a restless breed- And my heart is blown in each drifting mood As clouds blow over the mead.