Poem by George Meredith

Modern Love. Sonnet 43. Mark where the Pressing Wind Shoots Javelin-like

MARK where the pressing wind shoots javelin-like,
Its skeleton shadow on the broad-back'd wave!
Here is a fitting spot to dig Love's grave;
Here where the ponderous breakers plunge and strike,
And dart their hissing tongues high up the sand:
In hearing of the ocean, and in sight
Of those ribb'd wind-streaks running into white.
If I the death of Love had deeply plann'd,
I never could have made it half so sure,
As by the unblest kisses which upbraid
The full-waked sense; or failing that, degrade!
'Tis morning: but no morning can restore
What we have forfeited. I see no sin:
The wrong is mix'd. In tragic life, God wot,
No villain need be! Passions spin the plot:
We are betray'd by what is false within. 

1. Modern Love. Sonnet 12. Not Solely that the Future She Destroys
2. Joy Is Fleet
3. Modern Love. Sonnet 24. The Misery is Greater, as I Live!
4. Modern Love. Sonnet 39. She Yields: my Lady in her Noblest Mood
5. Modern Love. Sonnet 41. How Many a Thing which We Cast to the Ground

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