George Meredith

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

Modern Love Xxiii: 'Tis Christmas Weather - Poem by George Meredith

'Tis Christmas weather, and a country house
Receives us: rooms are full: we can but get
An attic-crib. Such lovers will not fret
At that, it is half-said. The great carouse
Knocks hard upon the midnight's hollow door,
But when I knock at hers, I see the pit.
Why did I come here in that dullard fit?
I enter, and lie couched upon the floor.
Passing, I caught the coverlet's quick beat:--
Come, Shame, burn to my soul! and Pride, and Pain--
Foul demons that have tortured me, enchain!
Out in the freezing darkness the lambs bleat.
The small bird stiffens in the low starlight.
I know not how, but shuddering as I slept,
I dreamed a banished angel to me crept:
My feet were nourished on her breasts all night.


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Read poems about / on: christmas, weather, angel, pride, house, pain, night, dream, sleep



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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