NOTHING is lost: the drop of dew

Which trembles on the leaf or flower 

Is but exhaled to fall anew

In summer's thunder shower; 

Perchance to shine within the bow

That fronts the sun at fall of day; 

Perchance to sparkle in the flow

Of fountains far away.

So with our words, or harsh, or kind,

Uttered, they are not all forgot, 

They leave their influence on the mind,

Pass on, but perish not; 

As they are spoken, so they fall

Upon the spirit spoken to, 

Scorch it like drops of burning gall,

Or soothe like honeydew.