They break from the pack and they seek their own track, They are swifter than cormorants flying; They range far and wide, they are fierce in their pride, And they glory in slaying and dying. Their love is a breath that is withering as d**h, They take, but they never are giving. Their hate is as fell and eternal as Hell. Yet, gods, how they revel in living. They jeer at the pack and they bend not the back To the rule of the weak and the many; From beginning to end they've no lover nor friend, Nor feel they the needing of any. They are beasts hard and lean and their talons are keen To rage and to rend and devour— Oh, mocking their mirth, for the best of the earth Is laid at their feet in their hour. Oh, they never can win, but the one single sin That they shun is the sin of the dastard. And they grin as they die, in their conqueror's eye, And he trembles, the small yellow ba*tard. For these are the men who know all of sin, Save the sinnings of fear and forgiving— Untamed avatars, they have broken the bars— And gods, how they revel in living!