The Pity of It

Adelaide Anne Procter

One by one the links are broken,
One by one the ties are crossed;
One by one, a word is spoken,
And the best friends have been lost.

Often cruel words will part us
That, had they been kindly said,
Would have drawn our hearts together;
Now, we drift apart instead.

We for little faults upbraid them,
We are jealous if they please;
For a fancied slight we wound them,
Words of anger or disdain.