No harlot could do more.

Is there not one to share with me
The shame and wrath I own?
Is there not one to curse that Thing
Or pick up stones to stone--
To rend and wreck and raze to earth--
Or do I stand alone?

Raise high the swine-like incubus,
Obediently bow!
Shatter the flame on rebel lips
And wreath that brazen brow!
So blaze the banners, ring the bells,
Apotheosis now!

My kind but scorn your dull "success"--
Your subtle ways to "win,"
We eat our hearts in solitude
Or sear our souls with "sin";
Yet we are better men than you
Who fit so smugly in.

Go! grovel for the shoddy goods
And plod and plot and plan,
And if you win the paltry prize
Go prize it--if you can,
But I would hurl it in your face
To hold myself a man!