George Meredith

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

George Meredith Poems

241. The Empty Purse--A Sermon To Our Later Prodigal Son 4/15/2010
242. Ask, Is Love Divine 4/14/2010
243. The Flower Of The Ruins 4/15/2010
244. A Preaching From A Spanish Ballad 4/14/2010
245. Modern Love Xvi: In Our Old Shipwrecked Days 1/3/2003
246. Aneurin's Harp 4/14/2010
247. The Death Of Winter 4/15/2010
248. Archduchess Anne 4/14/2010
249. The Garden Of Epicurus 4/15/2010
250. Modern Love Ix: He Felt The Wild Beast 1/3/2003
251. Modern Love Viii: Yet It Was Plain She Struggled 1/3/2003
252. The Main Regret 4/15/2010
253. Modern Love Vii: She Issues Radiant 1/3/2003
254. Modern Love Xviii: Here Jack And Tom 1/3/2003
255. A Ballad Of Past Meridian 4/14/2010
256. A Garden Idyl 4/14/2010
257. Modern Love X: But Where Began The Change 1/3/2003
258. Modern Love Xxx: What Are We First 1/3/2003
259. Juggling Jerry 1/3/2003
260. A Faith On Trial 4/14/2010
261. Angelic Love 4/14/2010
262. Modern Love Xxiv: The Misery Is Greater 1/3/2003
263. Modern Love Xlvii: We Saw The Swallows 1/3/2003
264. Modern Love Xxix: Am I Failing 1/3/2003
265. A Reading Of Life--With The Persuader 4/14/2010
266. Antigone 4/14/2010
267. Alternation 4/14/2010
268. A Roar Through The Tall Twin Elm-Trees 4/14/2010
269. Modern Love Xvii: At Dinner She Is Hostess 1/3/2003
270. A Stave Of Roving Tim 4/14/2010
271. Modern Love Xiii: I Play For Seasons, Not Eternities 1/3/2003
272. Modern Love Xv: I Think She Sleeps 1/3/2003
273. Modern Love Xxiii: 'Tis Christmas Weather 1/3/2003
274. Modern Love Xlix: He Found Her 1/3/2003
275. Winter Heavens 1/3/2003
276. At The Close 4/14/2010
277. Modern Love Xx: I Am Not Of Those 1/3/2003
278. Appreciation 4/14/2010
279. Modern Love Xxxiii: In Paris, At The Louvre 1/3/2003
280. Modern Love Iv: All Other Joys Of Life 1/3/2003
Best Poem of George Meredith

Angela Burdett-Coutts

Long with us, now she leaves us; she has rest
Beneath our sacred sod:
A woman vowed to Good, whom all attest,
The daylight gift of God.

Read the full of Angela Burdett-Coutts

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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