How often in my dreams have I beheld
   An enemy with a grinning, loathsome face;
And then, before the dream is over, lo!
   A smiling friend has taken that enemy's place.

So, when unkindness comes my way, I think
   Of an enemy first; but in the end
It follows, two to one, the secret blow
   Is struck by one who calls himself my friend!

Call me a Nature poet, nothing more,
   Who writes of simple things, not human evil;
And hear my grief when I confess that friends
   Have tried their best to make a cunning devil!