If I had known in the morning <br />How wearily all the day <br />the words unkind <br />would trouble my mind, that <br />I said when you went away; <br />I would have been more careful, darling; <br />nor given you needless pain; <br />But we vex our own <br />with a look and tone <br />We may never take back again. <br />For though in the quiet evening <br />You may give me the kiss of peace; <br />Yet, it might be, that never for me <br />The pain of the heart may cease. <br /> <br />How many go forth in the morning <br />and never come home at night, <br />and hearts have broken <br />for harsh words spoken <br />That sorrow can never set right. <br /> <br />We have careful thoughts for the stranger <br />and smiles for the sometime guest; <br />But oft for our own, <br />the bitter tone, <br />though we love our own the best. <br /> <br />Oh, lips, with curve impatient <br />and brow with a look of scorn <br />' Twere a cruel fate <br />were the night too late <br />to undo the work of the morn.<br /><br />Margaret Elizabeth Sangster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/oft-for-our-own/
