Dorcas GustineI was not beloved of the villagers,But all because I spoke my mind,And met those who transgressed against meWith plain remonstrance, hiding nor nurturingNor secret griefs nor grudges.That act of the Spartan boy is greatly praised,Who hid the wolf under his cloak,Letting it devour him, uncomplainingly.It is braver, I think, to snatch the wolf forthAnd fight him openly, even in the street,Amid dust and howls of pain.The tongue may be an unruly member—But silence poisons the soul.Berate me who will—I am content.
I was not beloved of the villagers,But all because I spoke my mind,And met those who transgressed against meWith plain remonstrance, hiding nor nurturingNor secret griefs nor grudges.That act of the Spartan boy is greatly praised,Who hid the wolf under his cloak,Letting it devour him, uncomplainingly.It is braver, I think, to snatch the wolf forthAnd fight him openly, even in the street,Amid dust and howls of pain.The tongue may be an unruly member—But silence poisons the soul.Berate me who will—I am content.