Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс)
Life’s Scars
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.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s other poems:
- The Phantom Ball
- The Giddy Girl
- The Awakening (I love the tropics, where sun and rain)
- The Bed
- The Plow of God
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