Ere the mother's milk had dried
On my lips, the Brethren came —
Tore me from my nurse's side,
And bestowed on me a name

Infamously overtrue —
Such as " Bunny, " " Stinker, " " Podge " ; —
But, whatever I should do,
Mine for ever in the Lodge.

Then they taught with palm and toe —
Then I learned with yelps and tears —
All the Armoured Man should know
Through his Seven Secret Years . . .

Last, oppressing as oppressed,
I was loosed to go my ways
With a Totem on my breast
Governing my nights and days —

Ancient and unbribeable,
By the virtue of its Name —
Which, however oft I fell,
Lashed me back into The Game.

And the World, that never knew,
Saw no more beneath my chin
Than a patch of rainbow-hue,
Mixed as Life and crude as Sin.