George Meredith

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

George Meredith Poems

201. The Discipline Of Wisdom 4/15/2010
202. The Doe: A Fragment (From Wandering Willie) 4/15/2010
203. The Emperor Frederick Of Our Time 4/15/2010
204. The Empty Purse--A Sermon To Our Later Prodigal Son 4/15/2010
205. The Flower Of The Ruins 4/15/2010
206. The Garden Of Epicurus 4/15/2010
207. The Head Of Bran The Blest 4/15/2010
208. The Horses Of Achilles 4/15/2010
209. The Hueless Love 4/15/2010
210. The Invective Of Achilles 4/15/2010
211. The Invective Of Achilles--V. 225 4/15/2010
212. The Labourer 4/15/2010
213. The Lady C. M. 4/15/2010
214. The Lark Ascending 4/15/2010
215. The Last Contention 4/15/2010
216. The Lesson Of Grief 4/15/2010
217. The Longest Day 4/15/2010
218. The Main Regret 4/15/2010
219. The Mares Of The Camargue 4/15/2010
220. The Meeting 4/15/2010
221. The Night-Walk 4/15/2010
222. The Nuptials Of Attila 4/15/2010
223. The Old Chartist 4/15/2010
224. The Olive Branch 4/15/2010
225. The Orchard And The Heath 4/15/2010
226. The Patriot Engineer 4/15/2010
227. The Poetry Of Chaucer 4/15/2010
228. The Poetry Of Coleridge 4/15/2010
229. The Poetry Of Keats 4/15/2010
230. The Poetry Of Milton 4/15/2010
231. The Poetry Of Shakespeare 4/15/2010
232. The Poetry Of Shelley 4/15/2010
233. The Poetry Of Southey 4/15/2010
234. The Poetry Of Spenser 4/15/2010
235. The Poetry Of Wordsworth 4/15/2010
236. The Point Of Taste 4/15/2010
237. The Promise In Disturbance 4/15/2010
238. The Question Whither 4/15/2010
239. The Rape Of Aurora 4/15/2010
240. The Revolution 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

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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