After The Quarrel

He never gave me a chance to speak,
And he called her, worse than a dog,
The girl stood up with a crimson cheek,
And I felled him there like a log.

I can feel the blow on my knuckles yet,
He feels it more on his brow.
In a thousand years we shall all forget
The things that trouble us now.

Adam Lindsey Gordon (1833-1870)