And a sadness fell over the scene
That but late wore a holiday sheen.
Then I rushed like a mad thing, on homicide bent;
And with anger that cut to the bone
I demolished the shaker, and ravaged the tent,
—But the hardened old sinner had flown;
And I sank to the earth with a groan.
Oh, his boot soles were tied to the uppers with string,
And his beard swept his chest like a mat—
I remarked that his eyes were as clear as the Spring,