If I had known in the morning
How wearily all the day
The words unkind would trouble my mind
That I said when you went away

I had been more careful, darling,
Nor given you needless pain;
But we vex our own with look and tone
We may never take back again.

For though in the quiet evening
You may give me the kiss of peace,
Yet it well might be that never for me
The pain of the heart should cease!

How many go forth at morning
Who never came home at night!
And hearts have broken for harsh words spoken
That sorrow can ne’er set right.

We have careful thought for the stranger,
And smiles for the sometime guest;
But oft for “our own” the bitter tone
Though we love our own the best.

Ah! Lips with the curve impatient,
Ah! Brow with the shade of scorn,
“Twere a cruel fate, were the night too late
To undo the work of the morn!

Margaret E. Sangster

Editors note:
I’d give a weeks pay to know the inspiration for this poem.
(I intend to read it each morning)

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