Poems (Rice)/After-thoughts

by Maria Theresa Rice

AFTER-THOUGHTS.

I THANK the gentle friend who calls
 On me to pass an hour;
An unexpected courtesy
 Has over me such power—
Especially when my sad heart
 Is very ill at ease;
A friendly call at any time
 Can never fail to please.

I thank them; if induced to come,
 Their plea it matters not;
To feel you have remembrance won
 Will cheer the hardest lot;
Aye, even with a soft rebuke,
 For strange remarks I've made,
I'll love the more if they will try
 But gently to dissuade.

Great mirthfulness I fancy too;
 Such as was given me
Is very hard oft to subdue
 When wrought to high degree;
Comparisons continually
 I seem inclined to draw,
As though perfection all were mine,—
 In me no sin or flaw.

My greatest fault, my vanity
 To think such one my friend;
A strangeness, like insanity,
 The first thing I offend;
But when by look, by word, or deed
 An injury I have done,
I quickly will their pardon plead
 Until forgiveness won.

Few weave reproach with tact or skill
 Through graceful tête-à-tête;
An arrow gemmed with flowers will
 Wound deep at any rate;
You know the wound will sooner heal
 If rightly balm's applied;
Its soothing influence you feel,
 This cannot be denied.

I know there are but very few
 Who will my shafts repel;
With bitterness they don't imbue
 Before they run and tell;
Most true, they seldom hesitate
 To render back my due—
However small the debt, or great,
 Return with interest too.

Alas for Christian charity;
 No saving grace have I;
Myself, a huge disparity,
 I cannot justify:
How much I'll thank them if they'll call,
 My coming short to tell
To me; and I will love them all,
 How much, a cannot tell.