That which is marred at birth Time shall not mend, <br />Nor water out of bitter well make clean; <br />All evil thing returneth at the end, <br />Or elseway walketh in our blood unseen. <br />Whereby the more is sorrow in certaine-- <br />Dayspring mishandled cometh not againe. <br /> <br />To-bruized be that slender, sterting spray <br />Out of the oake's rind that should betide <br />A branch of girt and goodliness, straightway <br />Her spring is turned on herself, and wried <br />And knotted like some gall or veiney wen.-- <br />Dayspring mishandled cometh not againe. <br /> <br />Noontide repayeth never morning-bliss-- <br />Sith noon to morn is incomparable; <br />And, so it be our dawning goth amiss, <br />None other after--hour serveth well. <br />Ah! Jesu-Moder, pitie my oe paine-- <br />Dayspring mishandled cometh not againe!<br /><br />Rudyard Kipling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gertrude-s-prayer/
