Life's Scars
Ella Wheeler Wilcox 1855 (Janesville) – 1919
They say the world is round, and yet
I often think it square,
So many little hurts we get
From corners here and there.
But one great truth in life I've found,
While journeying to the West-
The only folks who really wound
Are those we love the best.
The man you thoroughly despise
Can rouse your wrath, 'tis true;
Annoyance in your heart will rise
At things mere strangers do;
But those are only passing ills;
This rule all lives will prove;
The rankling wound which aches and thrills
Is dealt by hands we love.
The choicest garb, the sweetest grace,
Are oft to strangers shown;
The careless mien, the frowning face,
Are given to our own.
We flatter those we scarcely know,
We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
To those who love us best.
Love does not grow on every tree,
Nor true hearts yearly bloom.
Alas for those who only see
This cut across a tomb!
But, soon or late, the fact grows plain
To all through sorrow's test:
The only folks who give us pain
Are those we love the best.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on May 01, 2023
- 58 sec read
- 351 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ababcdcD efefgxgx hihijdjd klklmdmD |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 993 |
Words | 193 |
Stanzas | 4 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 8, 8, 8 |
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