Poems (Rice)/After-thoughts
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 tellTo me; and I will love them all, How much, a cannot tell.