TO G. A. G.
Reading edition
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.