Fate has raised him up again,
Spread his mangled wings again,
Laughed his laugh at quaking men,
And over-flown life’s skies again.

Wide and dark his form does spread,
Wider, darker, overhead;
Sickly laugh is filling dread
Into each man’s hanging head.

Dead he was, again is born;
Dead he was, now mounts the morn;
He was dead who death has shorn,
Sweeping into hope, now torn.

Fate must Hope obliterate;
Fate must Will consign to—Fate;
Fate must Choice tear from choice state;
Fate must close life’s golden gate.

But Fate cannot, if I say, “No”;
And Fate cannot, if I sing, “I”;
And Fate cannot, if I say, “Won’t”,
And Fate will not, if I shout, “Stop!”