George Meredith

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

George Meredith Poems

281. Twilight Music 4/15/2010
282. Union In Disseverance 4/15/2010
283. Unknown Fair Faces 4/15/2010
284. Violets 4/15/2010
285. When I Would Imagine 4/15/2010
286. Whimper Of Sympathy 4/15/2010
287. Will O' The Wisp 4/15/2010
288. Wind On The Lyre 4/15/2010
289. Winter Heavens 1/3/2003
290. Woodland Peace 4/15/2010
291. Woodman And Echo 4/15/2010
292. Young Reynard 4/15/2010
293. Youth In Age 4/15/2010
294. Youth In Memory 4/15/2010
Best Poem of George Meredith

Modern Love I: By This He Knew She Wept

By this he knew she wept with waking eyes:
That, at his hand's light quiver by her head,
The strange low sobs that shook their common bed
Were called into her with a sharp surprise,
And strangled mute, like little gaping snakes,
Dreadfully venomous to him. She lay
Stone-still, and the long darkness flowed away
With muffled pulses. Then, as midnight makes
Her giant heart of Memory and Tears
Drink the pale drug of silence, and so beat
Sleep's heavy measure, they from head to feet
Were moveless, looking through their dead black years,
By vain regret scrawled ...

Read the full of Modern Love I: By This He Knew She Wept

Love's Grave

MARK where the pressing wind shoots javelin-like,
Its skeleton shadow on the broad-back'd wave!
Here is a fitting spot to dig Love's grave;
Here where the ponderous breakers plunge and strike,
And dart their hissing tongues high up the sand:
In hearing of the ocean, and in sight
Of those ribb'd wind-streaks running into white.
If I the death of Love had deeply plann'd,
I never could have made it half so sure,

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