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.