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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. 



George Meredith


George Meredith's other poems:
  1. Modern Love. Sonnet 24. The Misery is Greater, as I Live!
  2. Empdeocles
  3. On Como
  4. Hawarden
  5. Alternation


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