SALAAM!

Serene, complacent, satisfied,

Content with things that be;

The paragon of paltriness

Upraised for all to see;

With loving pride he cherishes

His mediocrity!

The smirking, ass-like multitudes

Cringe down at his command.

With wagging ears and blinded eyes

They do not understand.

With pride they show each shackled wrist

And on each brow the brand.

The young, the old, the great, the small

Give homage — all supine.

Fond parents bring their children there

As to some holy shrine.

And every one the Beast transforms

From human into swine!

Well praised are they — rewarded well —

Who on their shoulders bore

The gilded Thing that all the mob

Fawned in the dust before.

And each that did obeisance there

Was naked like a whore.

The poet with his teeming song,

The wise his deep-delved lore,

The maiden with her tender flesh,

The strong his sturdy store:

Each yielded all he had to give;

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!

I will not bow with that mad horde

And passively obey.

I will not think their sordid thoughts

Nor say the things they say,

Nor wear their shameful uniforms,

Nor branded be as they.

Nor can they bend me to their will

Though black their numbers swell,

Nor bribe with hopes of paradise

Nor force with fears of hell;

Me they may break but never bend,—

I live but to rebel!

I go my way rejoicingly,

I, outcast, spurned and low,

But undreamed worlds may come to birth

From seeds that I may sow.

And if there's pain within my heart

Those fools shall never know.

So let me stand back silently,

The pageant passes by,

And live my life with these new Christs

Whom you would crucify,

And laugh with mirth to see the mob

Do homage to a Lie!