Nothing flourishes but witch-grass and canker-worms.
"Gala-days" by Gail Hamilton
The damp grass of the church-yard and the witches' den are bugbears no longer.
"Nooks and Corners of the New England Coast" by Samuel Adams Drake
Myron was hoein', too; we can't keep the witch grass out of that field, try our best.
"Pippin; A Wandering Flame" by Laura E. Richards
He did not like witch-grass; he never could see the use of the pesky stuff.
"Narcissa, or the Road to Rome" by Laura E. Richards