  1 Vent all your coward's wrath Upon me so!— Yes, I have crossed your path And will not go! 2 Storm at me hate, and name Me all that's vile, "Lust," "filth," "disease," and "shame," I only smile. 3 Me brute rage can not hurt, It only flings In your own eyes blind dirt That bites and stings. 4 Rave at your like such whine, Your fellow-men, This wrath!—great God! and mine!— What is it then? 5 No words! no oaths! such hate As devils smile When raw success cries "wait!" And "afterwhile!" 6 A woman I and ill, A courtesan You wearied of, would kill, And you—a man! 7 You, you—unnamable! A thing there's not, Too base to burn in Hell, Too vile to rot. |
|
