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!