I have lost this poem that I kept in my wallet. Does anyone know the words or author?

They say the world is round and yet
I often think it square.
So many little hurts we get
From corners here and there.

And then it says something about

"we please the fleating guest
but the one's we hurt the most
are those we love the best"

Most sites attribute this to Ella Wheeler Wilcox, but I found a couple of shorter versions titled "Those We Love" with author unknown.

Life's Scars
by: Ella Wheeler Wilcox

They say the world is round, and yet
I often think it square,
So many little hurts we get
From comers here and there.
But one great truth in life I've found,
While journeying to the West-
The only folks who really wound
Are those we love the best.

The man you thoroughly despise
Can rouse your wrath, 'tis true
Annoyance in your heart will rise
At things mere strangers do
But those are only passing ills
This rule all lives will prove
The rankling wound which aches and thrills
Is dealt by hands we love.

The choicest garb, the sweetest grace,
Are oft to strangers shown
The careless mien, the frowning face,
Are given to our own.
We flatter those we scarcely know,
We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
To those who love us best.

Love does not grow on every tree,
Nor true hearts yearly bloom.
Alas for those who only see
This cut across a tomb!
But soon or late, the fact grows plain
To all through sorrow's test:
The only folks who give us pain
Are those we love the best