Shall I then spare?
Who spared me where I trusted most? Whose hand
Clasped firmly mine? Speak! whose kind word,
When sorrow was upon me, came unto me,
As it should come, in peace, and bid me hope?
The butterflies that thronged around my steps,
But to fly from me when the sun went down?
I think of them, not to give blow for blow,
But to tramp out their false hearts ’neath my heel.
They left a sting behind—but yet I live!