Poem by Charles Kingsley

To G.A.G.

A hasty jest I once let fall-
As jests are wont to be, untrue-
As if the sum of joy to you
Were hunt and picnic, rout and ball.

Your eyes met mine: I did not blame;
You saw it: but I touched too near
Some noble nerve; a silent tear
Spoke soft reproach, and lofty shame.

I do not wish those words unsaid.
Unspoilt by praise and pleasure, you
In that one look to woman grew,
While with a child, I thought, I played.

Next to mine own beloved so long!
I have not spent my heart in vain.
I watched the blade; I see the grain;
A woman's soul, most soft, yet strong.


Eversley, 1856. 

1. Down to the Mothers
2. Ode on the Istallation of the Duke of Devonshire
3. The Dead Church
4. Frank Leigh's Song
5. Ballad of Earl Haldan's Daughter

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