TO THE HUSBAND.
Reading edition
Speak kindly to her, little dost thou know
What utter wretchedness, what hopeless wo
Hang on those bitter words—that stern reply—
The cold demeanor and reproving eye;
The death-steel pierces not with keener dart
Than unkind words in woman’s trusting heart.
The frailer being by thy side
Is of a finer mould—keener her sense
Of pain—of wrong—greater her love of
Tenderness. How delicately tuned her heart!
Each ruder breath upon its strings complains
In lowest notes of sadness, not heard but
Felt. It wears away her life like a deep
Under current, while the fair mirror of
The changeless surface gives not one sign
Of wo.
Ella.