George Meredith Poems
- The Lark Ascending He rises and begins to round, He drops ...
- Lucifer In Starlight On a starred night Prince Lucifer ...
- Youth In Memory Days, when the ball of our vision Had eagles...
- Modern Love Xvii: At Dinner Sh...
- Will O' The Wisp Follow me, follow me, Over brake and under...
- Love In The Valley Under yonder beech-tree single on the ...
- Winter Heavens Sharp is the night, but stars with frost ...
George Meredith, OM was an English novelist and poet of the Victorian era.
Meredith was born in Portsmouth, England, a son and grandson of naval outfitters. His mother died when he was five. At the age of 14 he was sent to a Moravian School in Neuwied, Germany, where he remained for two years. He read law and was articled as a solicitor, but abandoned that profession for journalism and poetry. He collaborated with Edward Gryffydh Peacock, son of Thomas Love Peacock in publishing a privately circulated literary magazine, the Monthly Observer. He married Edward Peacock's widowed sister Mary Ellen Nicolls in 1849 when he was twenty-one years old and she was ... more »
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Quotationsmore quotations »
''Cynicism is intellectual dandyism without the coxcomb's feathers.''George Meredith (1828-1909), British author. Clara Middleton, quoting Mr. Whitford, in The Egoist, ch. 7 (1879). Clara adds: "It seems to me that ...
''Sentimentalists are they who seek to enjoy without incurring the Immense Debtorship for a thing done.''George Meredith (1828-1909), British author. Sir Austin Feverel, quoting the "Pilgrim's Scrip," in "Of the Spring Primrose and the Autumnal," ch. 24, ...
''I expect that Woman will be the last thing civilised by Man.''George Meredith (1828-1909), British author. The Ordeal of Richard Feverel, ch. 1 (1859). An aphorism from the "The Pilgrim's Scrip."
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,