All Poems
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Modern Love XXIX: Am I Failing
© George Meredith
Am I failing ? For no longer can I cast
A glory round about this head of gold.
Glory she wears, but springing from the mould;
Not like the consecration of the Past!
Modern Love XXIV: The Misery Is Greater
© George Meredith
The misery is greater, as I live!
To know her flesh so pure, so keen her sense,
That she does penance now for no offence,
Save against Love. The less can I forgive!
Modern Love XXIII: 'Tis Christmas Weather
© George Meredith
'Tis Christmas weather, and a country house
Receives us: rooms are full: we can but get
An attic-crib. Such lovers will not fret
At that, it is half-said. The great carouse
Modern Love XXI: We Three Are
© George Meredith
We three are on the cedar-shadowed lawn;
My friend being third. He who at love once laughed,
Is in the weak rib by a fatal shaft
Struck through, and tells his passion's bashful dawn
Azrael
© Amado Ruiz de Nervo
Azrael, abre tu ala negra, y honda,
cobíjeme su palio sin medida,
y que a su abrigo bienechor se esconda
la incurable tristeza de mi vida.
Modern Love XVIII: Here Jack and Tom
© George Meredith
Here Jack and Tom are paired with Moll and Meg.
Curved open to the river-reach is seen
A country merry-making on the green.
Fair space for signal shakings of the leg.
Modern Love XVII: At Dinner She Is Hostess
© George Meredith
At dinner, she is hostess, I am host.
Went the feast ever cheerfuller? She keeps
The Topic over intellectual deeps
In buoyancy afloat. They see no ghost.
Disabled
© Wilfred Owen
He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
Modern Love XV: I Think She Sleeps
© George Meredith
I think she sleeps: it must be sleep, when low
Hangs that abandoned arm toward the floor;
The face turned with it. Now make fast the door.
Sleep on: it is your husband, not your foe.
Modern Love XLVIII: Their Sense
© George Meredith
Their sense is with their senses all mixed in,
Destroyed by subleties these women are!
More brain, O Lord, more brain! or we shall mar
Utterly this fair garden we might win.
Modern Love XLVII: We Saw the Swallows
© George Meredith
We saw the swallows gathering in the sky,
And in the osier-isle we heard them noise.
We had not to look back on summer joys,
Or forward to a summer of bright dye:
Modern Love XLV: It Is the Season
© George Meredith
It is the season of the sweet wild rose,
My Lady's emblem in the heart of me!
So golden-crownèd shines she gloriously,
And with that softest dream of blood she glows:
Modern Love XLIX: He Found Her
© George Meredith
He found her by the ocean's moaning verge,
Nor any wicked change in her discerned;
And she believed his old love had returned,
Which was her exultation, and her scourge.
Modern Love XLIV: They Say That Pity
© George Meredith
They say, that Pity in Love's service dwells,
A porter at the rosy temple's gate.
I missed him going: but it is my fate
To come upon him now beside his wells;
Modern Love XLIII: Mark Where the Pressing Wind
© George Meredith
Mark where the pressing wind shoots javelin-like,
Its skeleton shadow on the broad-backed wave!
Here is a fitting spot to dig Love's grave;
Here where the ponderous breakers plunge and strike,
Modern Love XLII: I Am to Follow Her
© George Meredith
I am to follow her. There is much grace
In woman when thus bent on martyrdom.
They think that dignity of soul may come,
Perchance, with dignity of body. Base!
Modern Love XLI: How Many a Thing
© George Meredith
How many a thing which we cast to the ground,
When others pick it up becomes a gem!
We grasp at all the wealth it is to them;
And by reflected light its worth is found.
Modern Love XL: I Bade My Lady Think
© George Meredith
I bade my Lady think what she might mean.
Know I my meaning, I? Can I love one,
And yet be jealous of another? None
Commits such folly. Terrible Love, I ween,
Modern Love XIX: No State Is Enviable
© George Meredith
No state is enviable. To the luck alone
Of some few favoured men I would put claim.
I bleed, but her who wounds I will not blame.
Have I not felt her heart as 'twere my own
Modern Love XIII: I Play for Seasons, Not Eternities
© George Meredith
'I play for Seasons; not Eternities!'
Says Nature, laughing on her way. 'So must
All those whose stake is nothing more than dust!'
And lo, she wins, and of her harmonies
