George Meredith

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

George Meredith Poems

81. Manfred 4/14/2010
82. Margaret's Bridal Eve 4/14/2010
83. Marian 4/14/2010
84. Marshalling Of The Achaians 4/14/2010
85. Martin’s Puzzle 4/14/2010
86. Meditation Under Stars 4/14/2010
87. Melampus 4/14/2010
88. Men And Man 4/15/2010
89. Milton--December 9, 1608: December 9, 1908 4/15/2010
90. Modern Love 4/15/2010
91. Modern Love I: By This He Knew She Wept 1/3/2003
92. Modern Love Ii: It Ended, And The Morrow 1/3/2003
93. Modern Love Iii: This Was The Woman 1/3/2003
94. Modern Love Iv: All Other Joys Of Life 1/3/2003
95. Modern Love Ix: He Felt The Wild Beast 1/3/2003
96. Modern Love L: Thus Piteously Love 1/3/2003
97. Modern Love V: A Message From Her 1/3/2003
98. Modern Love Vi: It Chanced His Lips Did Meet 1/3/2003
99. Modern Love Vii: She Issues Radiant 1/3/2003
100. Modern Love Viii: Yet It Was Plain She Struggled 1/3/2003
101. Modern Love X: But Where Began The Change 1/3/2003
102. Modern Love Xi: Out In The Yellow Meadows 1/3/2003
103. Modern Love Xii: Not Solely That The Future 1/3/2003
104. Modern Love Xiii: I Play For Seasons, Not Eternities 1/3/2003
105. Modern Love Xiv: What Soul Would Bargain 1/3/2003
106. Modern Love Xix: No State Is Enviable 1/3/2003
107. Modern Love Xl: I Bade My Lady Think 1/3/2003
108. Modern Love Xli: How Many A Thing 1/3/2003
109. Modern Love Xlii: I Am To Follow Her 1/3/2003
110. Modern Love Xliii: Mark Where The Pressing Wind 1/3/2003
111. Modern Love Xliv: They Say That Pity 1/3/2003
112. Modern Love Xlix: He Found Her 1/3/2003
113. Modern Love Xlv: It Is The Season 1/3/2003
114. Modern Love Xlvi: At Last We Parley 1/3/2003
115. Modern Love Xlvii: We Saw The Swallows 1/3/2003
116. Modern Love Xlviii: Their Sense 1/3/2003
117. Modern Love Xv: I Think She Sleeps 1/3/2003
118. Modern Love Xvi: In Our Old Shipwrecked Days 1/3/2003
119. Modern Love Xvii: At Dinner She Is Hostess 1/3/2003
120. Modern Love Xviii: Here Jack And Tom 1/3/2003
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

Dirge In Woods

A wind sways the pines,
And below
Not a breath of wild air;
Still as the mosses that glow
On the flooring and over the lines
Of the roots here and there.
The pine-tree drops its dead;
They are quiet, as under the sea.
Overhead, overhead

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