Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
Our Own
By Margaret Elizabeth Sangster (18381912)I
How wearily all the day
The words unkind
Would trouble my mind,
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 might never take back again.
You may give me the kiss of peace,
Yet well it might be
That never for me
The pain of the heart should cease.
How many go forth in the morning
Who never come at night;
And hearts have broken
For harsh words spoken,
That sorrow can ne’er set right.
And smiles for the sometime guest,
But oft for “our own”
The bitter tone,
Though we love our own the best.
Ah! lip with the curve impatient;
Ah! brow with that look of scorn,
’Twere a cruel fate
Were the night too late
To undo the work of morn.