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<h1>Witch-Burning</h1>

<p class="center" style="font-size: larger;">By Mary Elizabeth Counselman</p>


<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
They burned a witch in Bingham Square<br/>
<span class="i2">Last Friday afternoon.<br/></span>
The faggot-smoke was blacker than<br/>
<span class="i2">The shadows on the moon;<br/></span>
The licking flames were strangely green<br/>
<span class="i2">Like fox-fire on the fen&nbsp;...<br/></span>
And she who cursed the godly folk<br/>
<span class="i2">Will never curse again.</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
They burned a witch in Bingham Square<br/>
<span class="i2">Before the village gate.<br/></span>
A huswife raised a skinny hand<br/>
<span class="i2">To damn her, tense with hate.<br/></span>
A huckster threw a jagged stone&mdash;<br/>
<span class="i2">Her pallid cheek ran red&nbsp;...<br/></span>
But there was something scornful in<br/>
<span class="i2">The way she held her head.</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
They burned a witch in Bingham Square;<br/>
<span class="i2">Her eyes were terror-wild.<br/></span>
She was a slight, a comely maid,<br/>
<span class="i2">No taller than a child.<br/></span>
They bound her fast against the stake<br/>
<span class="i2">And laughed to see her fear&nbsp;...<br/></span>
Her red lips muttered secret words<br/>
<span class="i2">That no one dared to hear.</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
They burned a witch in Bingham Square&mdash;<br/>
<span class="i2">But ere she swooned with pain<br/></span>
And ere her bones were sodden ash<br/>
<span class="i2">Beneath the sudden rain,<br/></span>
She set her mark upon that throng&nbsp;...<br/>
<span class="i2">For time can not erase<br/></span>
The echo of her anguished cries,<br/>
<span class="i2">The memory of her face.</span>
</div>
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