To G. A. G by Charles Kingsley

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.