Both come from an old Germanic word, giftiz, which meant nothing more sinister than “a giving.” A gift, at bottom, is simply a thing that is given. English took that plain, warm sense and kept it. The same root gives us give itself, the past tense gave, the thing that is given, and forgive, which is to give a debt away rather than collect it.
German inherited the identical noun and let it drift. A gift is a thing handed to you, and that quiet idea has a quiet menace in it. Step by step, Gift slid from “a giving” to “a dose” to “poison.” The euphemism is grim and old; etymologists trace the poison sense back to the Middle Ages, not the modern era.
German was not the first language to walk this path. Greek did exactly the same thing centuries earlier. Its word for poison, dosis, also just meant “a giving,” and it is the direct ancestor of our own word dose. To name a poison, both languages reached for the gentlest possible word: the act of handing something over.
One German word still remembers the kinder meaning. A Mitgift is a dowry, literally the gift that comes with the bride, and it has quietly kept the old sense alive while the rest of the language let it turn deadly.
So the next time you wrap a present, you are handling a word with a double life: a kindness in English, a killing in German, and underneath both, the same small, ancient act of giving.
The whole story of gift, with its family tree, its cousins across Europe, and a chart of how *gift overtook forgive in print, is the subject of a full issue of The Monthly Lemma.*
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