Your door is shut against my tightened face,
     And I am sharp as steel with discontent;
     But I possess the courage and the grace
     To bear my anger proudly and unbent.
     The pavement slabs burn loose beneath my feet,
     A chafing savage, down the decent street;
     And passion rends my vitals as I pass,
     Where boldly shines your shuttered door of glass.
     Oh, I must search for wisdom every hour,
     Deep in my wrathful bosom sore and raw,
     And find in it the superhuman power
     To hold me to the letter of your law!
     Oh, I must keep my heart inviolate
     Against the potent poison of your hate.

       There was the bloody-flux that he put on Lucy Potts; he caused Emma Taylor's teeth to drop out; he put the shed skin of a black snake in Horsos Brown's shoes
and made him as the Wandering Jew; he put a sprig of Lena Merchant's hair in a bottle, corked it and threw it into a running stream with the neck pointing upstream,
and she went crazy; he buried Lillie Wilcox's finger-nails with lizard's feet and dried up her blood.

All of these things and more can easily be proved by the testimony
of the villagers. They ought to know. . .