Forth walked Ruth Gouch, fallen and disgraced;
And all but women pitied her,
As to the whipping-post shamefaced
She came and leaned and did not stir.

And all day long the adulteress,
There in the open, public place,
Stood in her guilt-stained, ghostly dress,
With pinioned hands and pallid face.

For punishment though new, yet meet,
The elders of the church decreed
To wear her own hand-woven sheet
As stigma of the shameless deed.

The men passed by with silent mien,
The women paused aloof and stared,
And mocked their little village queen
Whose beauty once their own impaired.

'Ah, now has come,' they said, 'at last.
The end we long foreknew, foretold'!
And, at a woman, women cast
The stone that was not cast of old.

Pity nor scorn did her affect;
She stood as any spectre there;
Before her name, her heart was wrecked,
What was there now she could not bear!