Poem by George Meredith

Modern Love. Sonnet 27. Distraction is the Panacea, Sir!

Distraction is the panacea, sir!
I hear my oracle of Medicine say.
Doctor! that same specific yesterday
I tried, and the result will not deter
A second trial. Is the devil's line
Of golden hair, or raven black, composed?
And does a cheek, like any sea-shell rosed,
Or clear as widowed sky, seem most divine?
No matter, so I taste forgetfulness.
And if the devil snare me, body and mind,
Here gratefully I score: -- he seemèd kind,
When not a soul would comfort my distress!
O sweet new world, in which I rise new made!
O Lady, once I gave love: now I take!
Lady, I must be flattered. Shouldst thou wake
The passion of a demon, be not afraid.

1. Modern Love. Sonnet 24. The Misery is Greater, as I Live!
2. A Later Alexandrian
3. Empdeocles
4. Hawarden
5. At the Funeral

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