Poem by George Meredith

Modern Love. Sonnet 34. Madam Would Speak with Me

Madam would speak with me. So, now it comes:
The Deluge or the Fire! She's well; she thanks
My husbandship. Our chain on silence clanks.
Time leers between, above his twiddling thumbs.
Am I quite well? Most excellent in health!
The journals, too, I diligently peruse.
Vesuvius is expected to give news:
Niagra is no noisier. By stealth
Our eyes dart scrutinizing snakes. She's glad
I'm happy, says her quivering under-lip.
'And are not you?' 'How can I be?' 'Take ship!
For happiness is somewhere to be had.'
'Nowhere for me!' Her voice is barely heard.
I am not melted, and make no pretence.
With commonplace I freeze her, tongue and sense.
Niagra or Vesuvius is deferred.

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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