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George Meredith (Джордж Мередит) Modern Love. Sonnet 48. Their Sense is with their Senses all Mixed in Their sense is with their senses all mixed in, Destroyed by subtleties these women are! More brain, O Lord, more brain! or we shall mar Utterly this fair garden we might win. Behold! I looked for peace, and thought it near. Our inmost hearts had opened, each to each. We drank the pure daylight of honest speech. Alas! that was the fatal draught, I fear. For when of my lost Lady came the word, This woman, O this agony of flesh! Jealous devotion bade her break the mesh, That I might seek that other like a bird. I do adore the nobleness! despise The act! She has gone forth, I know not where. Will the hard world my sentence of her share? I feel the truth; so let the world surmise. George Meredith's other poems:
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