And various other potent smells,
I strive to fumigate the vaults
In which the devastator dwells.
I pull my hair out by the root—
I dash my head against the door—
It only makes the hateful brute
A trifle noisier than before.
Then tell me not that Joy's bright flow'r
Upon this canker'd heart may bloom,
Like toadstools on a time-worn tow'r,