Charles Kingsley Poems

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Charles Kingsley
Charles Kingsley (June 12, 1819 – January 23, 1875) was an English novelist, particularly associated with the West Country and north-east Hampshire. Kingsley was born in Holne, Devon, the second son of a Rev. Charles Kingsley and his wife Mary. His brother, Henry Kingsley, also became a novelist. He spent his childhood in Clovelly and was educated at Bristol Grammar School before studying at King's College London, where he met Frances ‘Fanny’ Grenfell, with whom he fell almost immediately in love and married in 1844. In 1842, Charles left for Cambridge to read for Holy Orders at Magdalene College. He was originally intended for the legal profession, but changed his mind and chose to pursue a ministry in the church. From 1844, he was rector of Eversley in Hampshire, and in 1860, he was appointed Regius Professor of Modern History at the University of Cambridge. In 1872 Kingsley accepted the Presidency of the Birmingham and Midland Institute and became its 19th President. Kingsley died in 1875 and was buried in St Mary's Churchyard in Eversley. In person Charles Kingsley was tall and spare, sinewy rather than powerful, and of a restless excitable temperament. His complexion was swarthy, his hair dark, and his eye bright and piercing. His temper was hot, kept under rigid control; his disposition tender, gentle and loving, with flashing scorn and indignation against all that was ignoble and impure; he was a good husband, father and friend. One of his daughters, Mary St Leger Kingsley (Mrs Harrison), became well known as a novelist under the pseudonym of "Lucas Malet." Kingsley's life was written by his widow in 1877, entitled Charles Kingsley, his Letters and Memories of his Life, and presents a very touching and beautiful picture of her husband, but perhaps hardly does justice to his humour, his wit, his overflowing vitality and boyish fun. Charles also received letters from Thomas Henry Huxley in 1860 and later in 1863, discussing Huxley's early ideas on Agnosticism.

Do-it-yourself grook

Go on a starlit night,
stand on your head,
leave your ... [read poem]
the quiet snow
The quiet snow
Will splotch
Each in the row of cedars
With a fine
And patient ha... [read poem]
a farewell
My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and grey:... [read poem]
on problems
Our choicest plans
have fallen through
our airiest castles
tumbled over
beca... [read poem]
dream interpretation

Everything's either
concave or -vex,
so whatever you dream
will be something with sex.

an ethical grook
I see
and I hear
and I speak no evil;
I carry
no malice
w... [read poem]
Commutative Law

No cow's like a horse,
and no horse like a cow.
That's one similarity

a psychological tip
Whenever you're called on to make up your mind,
and you're hampered by not having any,
the... [read poem]
plowman's song
Turn under, plow,
My trouble;
Turn under griefs
And stubble.

Turn mouse's... [read poem]
what love is like
Love is like
a pineapple,
sweet and

reverie: the orchard on the slope
Thin ridges of land unploughed
Along the tree-rows
Covered with long cream grasses
Wi... [read poem]
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