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Poem by George Meredith


My Theme


Of me and of my theme think what thou wilt:
The song of gladness one straight bolt can check.
But I have never stood at Fortune's beck:
Were she and her light crew to run atilt
At my poor holding little would be spilt;
Small were the praise for singing o'er that wreck.
Who courts her dooms to strife his bended neck;
He grasps a blade, not always by the hilt.
Nathless she strikes at random, can be fell
With other than those votaries she deals
The black or brilliant from her thunder-rift.
I say but that this love of Earth reveals
A soul beside our own to quicken, quell,
Irradiate, and through ruinous floods uplift.



George Meredith


George Meredith's other poems:
  1. On Como
  2. Modern Love. Sonnet 40. I Bade my Lady Think what She Might Mean
  3. Unknown Fair Faces
  4. Modern Love. Sonnet 37. Along the Garden Terrace
  5. Modern Love. Sonnet 46. At Last We Parley


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