"But it is in the absence of sadness,
When there's nought to occasion our tears,
When our hearts should be bounding with gladness,
That this demon of discord appears.
Oh! beware the first word that is spoken
At all to unkindness akin;
For I've known hearts grow cold, aye, and broken,
Through what in mere jest might begin.
"I've known houses made wretched and lonely,
Do you ask how all this has occurred?
From this simple cause, and this only,
The trying to have the last word!"
Said the old dame, "'Tis sadly too true,
'Tia the parent of trouble and pain;
And I'll tell you, love, what you shall do,
Turn that leaf down, we'll read it again."
Impromptu.
Written in one of the alcoves at Old Vauxhall, Birmingham, March 6, 1850.
Each passing day doth filch away
Some joy for which it stands our debtor.
And on we range, from change to change.
Not always, mark ye, for the better.
