Knole and the Sackvilles

by V. Sackville-West

Sweet youth, ’tis hard thy innocence should be

A source of scandal and reproach to me.

Nay, blush not—with reluctance I prevail

O’er innate modesty to own the tale.

That fatal day when first I saw thy face

And marked each angel-look and smiling grace,

Thy fair idea struck my tender heart,

And, oh! remained, though thou didst soon depart;

Maternal love, methought, thou didst inspire,

Around my heart still played the lambent fire.