'Dare you reach so high, girl, from the gutter of the street?'
She slapped his cheek and turned his tongue right over:
'Your church has cursed me till I am black as it:
The devil has my preference forever.'
She spoke. An upstart gentleman
Flashed his golden palm to her and she ran.

But he lay there stretched full length in the gutter.
He swore to live on dog-licks for ten years.
'My pride has been the rotten heart of the matter.'
His eyes dwelt with the quick ankles of whores.
To mortify pride he hailed each one:
'This is the ditch to pitch abortions in.'

He stared up at the dark and he cursed that;
'As if my own heart were not bad enough,
But heaven itself must blacken with the rot!'
Then he saw the thin moon staggering through the rough
Wiping her wound. And he rose wild
And sought and blest only what was defiled.