A Lament

The merry merry lark was up and singing,
    And the hare was out and feeding on the lea;
And the merry merry bells below were ringing,
    When my child's laugh rang through me.

Now the hare is snared and dead beside the snow-yard,
    And the lark beside the dreary winter sea;
And the baby in his cradle in the churchyard
    Sleeps sound till the bell brings me.

Eversley, 1848.

Charles Kingsley

Charles Kingsley was an English writer, historian, and clergyman born on June 12, 1819, in Holne, Devon. He was associated with the Christian Socialist movement and was a friend of prominent figures such as Charles Darwin. Kingsley is best known for his historical novels, including 'Westward Ho!' and 'Hypatia,' as well as his children's book 'The Water-Babies.' His works often explore social issues and aim to contribute to societal reform. Kingsley died on January 23, 1875, in Eversley, Hampshire.

Charles Kingsley

Christmas Day

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Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

The Song Of The Little Baltung. A.D. 395

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Knight's Return

Hark! hark! hark!
The lark sings high in the dark.
The were wolves mutter, the night hawks moan,
The raven croaks from the Raven-stone;
What care I for his boding groan,
Riding the moorland to come to mine own?
Hark! hark! hark!
The lark sings high in the dark.

Hark! hark! hark!
The lark sings high in the dark.
Long have I wander'd by land and by sea,
Long have I ridden by moorland and lea;
Yonder she sits with my babe on her knee,
Sits at the window and watches for me!
Hark! hark! hark!
The lark sings high in the dark.

Written for music, 1857.

Charles Kingsley

A Christmas Carol

It chanced upon the merry merry Christmas eve,
    I went sighing past the church across the moorland dreary -
'Oh! never sin and want and woe this earth will leave,
    And the bells but mock the wailing round, they sing so cheery.
How long, O Lord! how long before Thou come again?
    Still in cellar, and in garret, and on moorland dreary
The orphans moan, and widows weep, and poor men toil in vain,
    Till earth is sick of hope deferred, though Christmas bells be cheery.'

Then arose a joyous clamour from the wild-fowl on the mere,
    Beneath the stars, across the snow, like clear bells ringing,
And a voice within cried - 'Listen! - Christmas carols even here!
    Though thou be dumb, yet o'er their work the stars and snows are singing.
Blind!    I live, I love, I reign...

Charles Kingsley

The Bad Squire

The merry brown hares came leaping
    Over the crest of the hill,
Where the clover and corn lay sleeping
    Under the moonlight still.

Leaping late and early,
    Till under their bite and their tread
The swedes and the wheat and the barley
    Lay cankered and trampled and dead.

A poacher's widow sat sighing
    On the side of the white chalk bank,
Where under the gloomy fir-woods
    One spot in the ley throve rank.

She watched a long tuft of clover,
    Where rabbit or hare never ran;
For its black sour haulm covered over
    The blood of a murdered man.

She thought of the dark plantation,
    And the hares, and her husband's blood,
And the voice of her indignation
    Rose up to the throne of God.

'I am l...

Charles Kingsley

The Child's Grave

I came to the churchyard where pretty Joy lies
    On a morning in April, a rare sunny day;
Such bloom rose around, and so many birds' cries
    That I sang for delight as I followed the way.

I sang for delight in the ripening of spring,
    For dandelions even were suns come to earth;
Not a moment went by but a new lark took wing
    To wait on the season with melody's mirth.

Love-making birds were my mates all the road,
    And who would wish surer delight for the eye
Than to see pairing goldfinches gleaming abroad
    Or yellowhammers sunning on paling and sty?

And stocks in the almswomen's garden were blown,
    With rich Easter roses each side of the door;
The lazy white owls in the glade cool and lone
    Paid calls on their cousins in the e...

Edmund Blunden

The Starlings

Early in spring time, on raw and windy mornings,
Beneath the freezing house-eaves I heard the starlings sing -
'Ah dreary March month, is this then a time for building wearily?
    Sad, sad, to think that the year is but begun.'

Late in the autumn, on still and cloudless evenings,
Among the golden reed-beds I heard the starlings sing -
'Ah that sweet March month, when we and our mates were courting merrily;
    Sad, sad, to think that the year is all but done.'

Eversley, 1848.

Charles Kingsley

A Farewell: To C. E. G.

My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
    No lark could pipe in skies so dull and gray;
Yet, if you will, one quiet hint I'll leave you,
    For every day.

I'll tell you how to sing a clearer carol
    Than lark who hails the dawn or breezy down
To earn yourself a purer poet's laurel
    Than Shakespeare's crown.

Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever;
    Do lovely things, not dream them, all day long;
And so make Life, and Death, and that For Ever,
    One grand sweet song.

February 1, 1856.

Charles Kingsley