Classic Poem

One great truth in life I've found,
— While journeying to the West —
The only folks we really wound
— Are those we love the best.

The man you thoroughly despise
— Can rouse your wrath, 'tis true;
Annoyance in your heart will rise
— At things mere strangers do.

But those are only passing ills;
— This rule all lives will prove;
The rankling wound which aches and thrills
— Is dealt by hands we love.

The choicest garb, the sweetest grace,
— Are oft to strangers shown;
The careless mien, the frowning face,
— Are given to our own.

We flatter those we scarcely know,
— We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
— To those we love the best. . . .

One great truth in life I've found,
— While journeying to the West —
The only folks we really wound
— Are those we love the best.

The man you thoroughly despise
— Can rouse your wrath, 'tis true;
Annoyance in your heart will rise
— At things mere strangers do.

But those are only passing ills;
— This rule all lives will prove;
The rankling wound which aches and thrills
— Is dealt by hands we love.

The choicest garb, the sweetest grace,
— Are oft to strangers shown;
The careless mien, the frowning face,
— Are given to our own.

We flatter those we scarcely know,
— We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
— To those we love the best. . . .