All Poems
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My Friends
© William Stanley Merwin
My friends with names like gloves set out
Bare handed as they have lived
And nobody knows them
It is they that lay the wreaths at the milestones it is their
Cups that are found at the wells
And are then chained up
Air
© William Stanley Merwin
Naturally it is night.
Under the overturned lute with its
One string I am going my way
Which has a strange sound.
Yesterday
© William Stanley Merwin
My friend says I was not a good son
you understand
I say yes I understand
I Entreat You, Alfred Tennyson
© Walter Savage Landor
I entreat you, Alfred Tennyson,
Come and share my haunch of venison.
Winter Heavens
© George Meredith
Sharp is the night, but stars with frost alive
Leap off the rim of earth across the dome.
It is a night to make the heavens our home
More than the nest whereto apace we strive.
Song in the Songless
© George Meredith
They have no song, the sedges dry,
And still they sing.
It is within my breast they sing,
As I pass by.
Phoebus with Admetus
© George Meredith
NOW the North wind ceases,
The warm South-west awakes;
Swift fly the fleeces,
Thick the blossom-flakes.
Modern Love XXXVIII: Give to Imagination
© George Meredith
Give to imagination some pure light
In human form to fix it, or you shame
The devils with that hideous human game:
Imagination urging appetite!
Modern Love XXXVII: Along the Garden Terrace
© George Meredith
Along the garden terrace, under which
A purple valley (lighted at its edge
By smoky torch-flame on the long cloud-ledge
Whereunder dropped the chariot), glimmers rich,
Modern Love XXXVI: My Lady unto Madam
© George Meredith
My Lady unto Madam makes her bow.
The charm of women is, that even while
You're probed by them for tears, you yet may smile,
Nay, laugh outright, as I have done just now.
Modern Love XXXV: It Is No Vulgar Nature
© George Meredith
It is no vulgar nature I have wived.
Secretive, sensitive, she takes a wound
Deep to her soul, as if the sense had swooned,
And not a thought of vengeance had survived.
Modern Love XXXIX: She Yields
© George Meredith
She yields: my Lady in her noblest mood
Has yielded: she, my golden-crownèd rose!
The bride of every sense! more sweet than those
Who breathe the violet breath of maidenhood.
Modern Love XXXIII: In Paris, at the Louvre
© George Meredith
'In Paris, at the Louvre, there have I seen
The sumptuously-feathered angel pierce
Prone Lucifer, descending. Looked he fierce,
Showing the fight a fair one? Too serene!
Modern Love XXXII: Full Faith I Have
© George Meredith
Full faith I have she holds that rarest gift
To beauty, Common Sense. To see her lie
With her fair visage an inverted sky
Bloom-covered, while the underlids uplift,
Modern Love XXXI: This Golden Head
© George Meredith
This golden head has wit in it. I live
Again, and a far higher life, near her.
Some women like a young philosopher;
Perchance because he is diminutive.
Modern Love XXX: What Are We First
© George Meredith
What are we first? First, animals; and next
Intelligences at a leap; on whom
Pale lies the distant shadow of the tomb,
And all that draweth on the tomb for text.
Modern Love XXVIII: I Must Be Flattered
© George Meredith
I must be flattered. The imperious
Desire speaks out. Lady, I am content
To play with you the game of Sentiment,
And with you enter on paths perilous;
Modern Love XXVII: Distraction is the Panacea
© George Meredith
Distraction is the panacea, Sir!
I hear my oracle of Medicine say.
Doctor! that same specific yesterday
I tried, and the result will not deter
Modern Love XXV: You Like Not That French Novel
© George Meredith
You like not that French novel? Tell me why.
You think it quite unnatural. Let us see.
The actors are, it seems, the usual three:
Husband, and wife, and lover. She--but fie!
