The Works of George Meredith: Poems

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A. Constable, 1898
 

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Страница 257 - And O, green bounteous Earth ! Bacchante Mother ! stern to those Who live not in thy heart of mirth ; Death shall I shrink from, loving thee? Into the breast that gives the rose, Shall I with shuddering fall ? Earth, the mother of all, Moves on her steadfast way, Gathering, flinging, sowing.
Страница 182 - Shy as the squirrel and wayward as the swallow, Swift as the swallow along the river's light Circleting the surface to meet his mirrored winglets, Fleeter she seems in her stay than in her flight. Shy as the squirrel that leaps among the pine-tops, Wayward as the swallow overhead at set of sun, She whom I love is hard to catch and conquer...
Страница 183 - When her mother tends her before the laughing mirror, Tying up her laces, looping up her hair, Often she thinks, were this wild thing wedded, More love should I have, and much less care.
Страница 11 - That was the chirp of Ariel You heard, as overhead it flew, The farther going more to dwell, And wing our green to -wed our blue; But whether note of joy or knell, Not his own Father-singer knew ; Nor yet can any mortal tell, Save only how it shivers through The breast of us a sounded shell, The blood of us a lighted dew.2 The
Страница 122 - SHE can be as wise as we, And wiser when she wishes; She can knit with cunning wit, And dress the homely dishes. She can flourish staff or pen, And deal a wound that lingers; She can talk the talk of men, And touch with thrilling fingers.
Страница 184 - Turns grave eyes craving light, released from dreams, Beautiful she looks, like a white water-lily Bursting out of bud in havens of the streams.
Страница 105 - Juggling's no sin, for we must have victual: Nature allows us to bait for the fool. Holding one's own makes us juggle no little; But, to increase it, hard Juggling's the rule.
Страница 108 - Nobly you've stuck to me, though in his kitchen Many a Marquis would hail you Cook! Palaces you could have ruled and grown rich in, But your old Jerry you never forsook.
Страница 108 - Yonder came smells of the gorse, so nutty, Gold-like and warm: it's the prime of May. Better than mortar, brick, and putty, Is God's house on a blowing day. Lean me more up the mound ; now I feel it : All the old heath-smells ! Ain't it strange ? There's the world laughing, as if to conceal it ! But He's by us, juggling the change.
Страница 34 - By my faith, there is feasting to come, Not the less, when our Earth we have seen Beneath and on surface, her deeds and designs : Who gives us the man-loving Nazarene, The martyrs, the poets, the corn and the vines.

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