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Poem by George Meredith


Modern Love. Sonnet 39. She Yields: my Lady in her Noblest Mood


She yields: my Lady in her noblest mood
Has yielded: she, my golden-crownèd rose!
The bride of every sense! more sweet than those
Who breathe the violet breath of maidenhood.
O visage of still music in the sky!
Soft moon! I feel thy song, my fairest friend!
True harmony within can apprehend
Dumb harmony without. And hark! 'tis nigh!
Belief has struck the note of sound: a gleam
Of living silver shows me where she shook
Her long white fingers down the shadowy brook,
That sings her song, half waking, half in dream.
What two come here to mar this heavenly tune?
A man is one: the woman bears my name,
And honour. Their hands touch! Am I still tame?
God, what a dancing spectre seems the moon!



George Meredith


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


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