THE RABBLE FATES—TO HELL WITH THEM!
Reading edition
They fling at me stones and mud, My clothes are tattered and foul, My face is covered in blood; But they haven’t hurt my soul. They have beaten me sore—in truth No part of me stands whole! They have stolen away my youth: But they could not steal my soul. Robbed, baffled, and broken, Something lives in me whole; And I hold by that for a token That they cannot conquer my soul. Let them thrash me with knotted sorrow, Stone me with sharp regret; I shall be their king on a morrow, My soul is a monarch yet.