(A MAN SPEAKS.)

    Once, a new world, the sunswart marinere,
        Columbus, promised, and was sore withstood,
    Ungraced, unhelped, unheard for many a year;
        But let at last to make his promise good.
    Promised and promising I go, most dear,
        To better my dull heart with love's sweet feud,
    My life with its most reverent hope and fear,
        And my religion, with fair gratitude.
    O we must part; the stars for me contend,
        And all the winds that blow on all the seas.
    Through wonderful waste places I must wend,
        And with a promise my sad soul appease.
    Promise then, promise much of far-off bliss;
    But - ah, for present joy, give me one kiss.

More information on Jean Ingelow