George Meredith

(12 February 1828 – 18 May 1909 / Portsmouth, England)

George Meredith Poems

1. The State Of Age 4/15/2010
2. The Teaching Of The Nude 4/15/2010
3. The Three Singers To Young Blood 4/15/2010
4. The Two Masks 4/15/2010
5. The Voyage Of The 'Ophir' 4/15/2010
6. The Warning 4/15/2010
7. The Wild Rose 4/15/2010
8. The Wild Rose And The Snowdrop 4/15/2010
9. The Wisdom Of Eld 4/15/2010
10. The Year's Shreddings 4/15/2010
11. The Young Princess -- A Ballad Of Old Laws Of Love 4/15/2010
12. The Young Usurper 4/15/2010
13. The World's Advance 4/15/2010
14. Time And Sentiment 4/15/2010
15. To Alex. Smith, The 'Glasgow Poet,' On His Sonnet To 'Fame' 4/15/2010
16. The Three Maidens 4/15/2010
17. The Sweet O' The Year 4/15/2010
18. To A Skylark 4/15/2010
19. The Two Blackbirds 4/15/2010
20. The Thrush In February 4/15/2010
21. The Years Had Worn Their Season's Belt 4/15/2010
22. The Woods Of Westermain 4/15/2010
23. The Sleeping City 4/15/2010
24. The Song Of Courtesy 4/15/2010
25. The Song Of Theodolinda 4/15/2010
26. The South-Wester 4/15/2010
27. The Sage Enamoured And The Honest Lady 4/15/2010
28. The Cageing Of Ares 4/15/2010
29. Phoebus With Admetus 1/4/2003
30. To Robin Redbreast 4/15/2010
31. Youth In Age 4/15/2010
32. The Shipwreck Of Idomeneus 4/15/2010
33. To Cardinal Manning 4/15/2010
34. Union In Disseverance 4/15/2010
35. The Youthful Quest 4/15/2010
36. To A Friend Lost (Tom Taylor) 4/15/2010
37. Whimper Of Sympathy 4/15/2010
38. Wind On The Lyre 4/15/2010
39. The Spirit Of Shakespeare 4/15/2010
40. To A Nightingale 4/15/2010
Best Poem of George Meredith

The Lark Ascending

He rises and begins to round,
He drops the silver chain of sound
Of many links without a break,
In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake,
All intervolv’d and spreading wide,
Like water-dimples down a tide
Where ripple ripple overcurls
And eddy into eddy whirls;
A press of hurried notes that run
So fleet they scarce are more than one,
Yet changingly the trills repeat
And linger ringing while they fleet,
Sweet to the quick o’ the ear, and dear
To her beyond the handmaid ear,
Who sits beside our inner springs,
Too often dry for this he brings,
Which ...

Read the full of The Lark Ascending

Juggling Jerry

Pitch here the tent, while the old horse grazes:
By the old hedge-side we'll halt a stage.
It's nigh my last above the daisies:
My next leaf'll be man's blank page.
Yes, my old girl! and it's no use crying:
Juggler, constable, king, must bow.
One that outjuggles all's been spying
Long to have me, and he has me now.

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