George Meredith

Related poetry:

1. On the Deaths of Thomas Carlyle and George Eliot Two souls diverse out of our human sight Pass, followed one with love and each with wonder: The stormy sophist with his mouth of thunder, Clothed with loud words and mantled in the might Of darkness and magnificence of night; And one whose eye could smite the night in sunder, Searching if light or no […]...
2. An Address to the Rev. George Gilfillan All hail to the Rev. George Gilfillan of Dundee, He is the greatest preacher I did ever hear or see. He is a man of genius bright, And in him his congregation does delight, Because they find him to be honest and plain, Affable in temper, and seldom known to complain. He preaches in a […]...
3. To My Brother George Many the wonders I this day have seen: The sun, when first he kissed away the tears That filled the eyes of Morn;-the laurelled peers Who from the feathery gold of evening lean;- The ocean with its vastness, its blue green, Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears, Its voice mysterious, which […]...
4. For Harry (My College Room-mate who Died) He cut his hand and it bled, the flesh Inside was red and the hurt discounted the flood Of red and vibrant blood that pulsed From the wound. But he was a warrior, A son whose mien would not countenance the pain And he bound the wound in strips of flax And stalked from the […]...
5. George Crabbe Give him the darkest inch your shelf allows, Hide him in lonely garrets, if you will,- But his hard, human pulse is throbbing still With the sure strength that fearless truth endows. In spite of all fine science disavows, Of his plain excellence and stubborn skill There yet remains what fashion cannot kill, Though years […]...
6. The Missal Makers To visit the Escurial We took a motor bus, And there a guide mercurial Took charge of us. He showed us through room after room, And talked hour after hour, Of place, crypt and royal tomb, Of pomp and power. But in bewilderment of grace What pleased me most of all Were ancient missals proud […]...
7. George and the Dragon I’ll tell you the tale of an old country pub As fancied itself up to date, It had the word ” Garage” wrote on t’ stable door And a petrol pump outside the gate. The ” George and the Dragon” were t’ name of the pub, And it stood in a spot wild and bleak, […]...
8. Pretty Words Poets make pets of pretty, docile words: I love smooth words, like gold-enamelled fish Which circle slowly with a silken swish, And tender ones, like downy-feathred birds: Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed deer in herds, Come to my hand, and playful if I wish, Or purring softly at a silver dish, Blue Persian kittens fed […]...
9. Epistle To My Brother George Full many a dreary hour have I past, My brain bewildered, and my mind o’ercast With heaviness; in seasons when I’ve thought No spherey strains by me could e’er be caught From the blue dome, though I to dimness gaze On the far depth where sheeted lightning plays; Or, on the wavy grass outstretched supinely, […]...
10. To The Rev. George Coleridge Notus in fratres animi paterni. Hor. Carm. lib. II.2. A blessйd lot hath he, who having passed His youth and early manhood in the stir And turmoil of the world, retreats at length, With cares that move, not agitate the heart, To the same dwelling where his father dwelt; And haply views his tottering little […]...
11. THE SINGING SCHOOL The Poetry School, The Poetry Book Society, The Poetry Business: So much poetry about you’d think I’d want to shout, “Hurray, hurray, Every day’s Poetry Day!” but I don’t and you don’t either- You know its flim-flam on the ether, grants for Jack-the-lads Of both sexes, poets who’ve never been seen in a little magazine […]...
12. So Now? the words have come and gone, I sit ill. The phone rings, the cats sleep. Linda vacuums. I am waiting to live, Waiting to die. I wish I could ring in some bravery. It’s a lousy fix But the tree outside doesn’t know: I watch it moving with the wind In the late afternoon sun. […]...
13. The Mole Said he: “I’ll dive deep in the Past, And write a book of direful days When summer skies were overcast With smoke of humble hearths ablaze; When War was rampant in the land, And poor folk cowered in the night, While ruin gaped on every hand – Of ravishing and wrath I’ll write.” Ten years […]...
14. George Who played with a Dangerous Toy, and suffered a Catastrophe of considerable Dimensions When George’s Grandmamma was told That George had been as good as gold, She promised in the afternoon To buy him an Immense BALLOON. And so she did; but when it came, It got into the candle flame, And being of a […]...
15. "I Love You Sweatheart&quot A man risked his life to write the words. A man hung upside down (an idiot friend Holding his legs?) with spray paint To write the words on a girder fifty feet above A highway. And his beloved, The next morning driving to work…? His words are not (meant to be) so unique. Does she […]...
16. So the Eyes accost and sunder So the Eyes accost and sunder In an Audience Stamped occasionally forever So may Countenance Entertain without addressing Countenance of One In a Neighboring Horizon Gone as soon as known...
17. Mrs. George Reece To this generation I would say: Memorize some bit of verse of truth or beauty. It may serve a turn in your life. My husband had nothing to do With the fall of the bank he was only cashier. The wreck was due to the president, Thomas Rhodes, And his vain, unscrupulous son. Yet my […]...
18. George Gray I have studied many times The marble which was chiseled for me A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor. In truth it pictures not my destination But my life. For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment; Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid; Ambition called […]...
19. George Trimble Do you remember when I stood on the steps Of the Court House and talked free-silver, And the single-tax of Henry George? Then do you remember that, when the Peerless Leader Lost the first battle, I began to talk prohibition, And became active in the church? That was due to my wife, Who pictured to […]...
20. To George Sand: A Recognition TRUE genius, but true woman! dost deny The woman’s nature with a manly scorn And break away the gauds and armlets worn By weaker women in captivity? Ah, vain denial! that revolted cry Is sobbed in by a woman’s voice forlorn, Thy woman’s hair, my sister, all unshorn Floats back dishevelled strength in agony Disproving […]...
21. To George Sand: A Desire THOU large-brained woman and large-hearted man, Self-called George Sand! whose soul, amid the lions Of thy tumultuous senses, moans defiance And answers roar for roar, as spirits can: I would some mild miraculous thunder ran Above the applauded circus, in appliance Of thine own nobler nature’s strength and science, Drawing two pinions, white as wings […]...
22. On The Loss Of The Royal George Written when the news arrived. Toll for the brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave Fast by their native shore. Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. A land-breeze shook the shrouds, And she was overset; […]...
23. On The Death Of Rev. Mr. George Whitefield HAIL, happy saint, on thine immortal throne, Possest of glory, life, and bliss unknown; We hear no more the music of thy tongue, Thy wonted auditories cease to throng. Thy sermons in unequall’d accents flow’d, And ev’ry bosom with devotion glow’d; Thou didst in strains of eloquence refin’d Inflame the heart, and captivate the mind. […]...
24. The Wrong Way Home All night a door floated down the river. It tried to remember little incidents of pleasure From its former life, like the time the lovers Leaned against it kissing for hours And whispering those famous words. Later, there were harsh words and a shoe Was thrown and the door was slammed. Comings and goings by […]...
25. Talisman it is written The act of writing is Holy words are Sacred and your breath Brings out the God in them I write these words Quickly repeat them Softly to myself This talisman for you Fold this prayer Around your neck fortify Your back with these Whispers May you walk ever Loved and in love […]...
26. A Poem About George Doty In The Death House Lured by the wall, and drawn To stare below the roof, Where pigeons nest aloof From prowling cats and men, I count the sash and bar Secured to granite stone, And note the daylight gone, Supper and silence near. Close to the wall inside, Immured, empty of love, A man I have wondered of Lies […]...
27. Stafford's Cabin Once there was a cabin here, and once there was a man; And something happened here before my memory began. Time has made the two of them the fuel of one flame And all we have of them is now a legend and a name. All I have to say is what an old man […]...
28. Aemilianus Monae, Alexandrian, 628 – 655 A. D With words, with countenance, and with manners I shall build an excellent panoply; And in this way I shall face evil men Without having any fear or weakness. They will want to harm me. But of those Who approach me none will know Where my wounds are, my vulnerable parts, Under all the lies that […]...
29. Compensation Why should I keep holiday, When other men have none? Why but because when these are gay, I sit and mourn alone. And why when mirth unseals all tongues Should mine alone be dumb? Ah! late I spoke to silent throngs, And now their hour is come....
30. Pentecost Better a jungle in the head Than rootless concrete. Better to stand bewildered By the fireflies’ crooked street; Winter lamps do not show Where the sidewalk is lost, Nor can these tongues of snow Speak for the Holy Ghost; The self-increasing silence Of words dropped from a roof Points along iron railings, Direction, in not […]...
31. Late, Late, So Late Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill! Late, late, so late! but we can enter still. Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. No light had we: for that we do repent; And learning this, the bridegroom will relent. Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. No light: so late! […]...
32. The Treehouse To every man His treehouse, A green splice in the humping years, Spartan with narrow cot And prickly door. To every man His twilight flash Of luminous recall of tiptoe years in leaf-stung flight; of days of squirm and bite that waved antennas through the grass; of nights when every moving thing was girlshaped, expectantly […]...
33. Stars Wheel in Purple Stars wheel in purple, yours is not so rare As Hesperus, nor yet so great a star As bright Aldeboran or Sirius, Nor yet the stained and brilliant one of War; Stars turn in purple, glorious to the sight; Yours is not gracious as the Pleiads are Nor as Orion’s sapphires, luminous; Yet disenchanted, cold, […]...
34. When I Set Out For Lyonnesse When I set out for Lyonnesse, A hundred miles away, The rime was on the spray, And starlight lit my lonesomeness When I set out for Lyonnesse A hundred miles away. What would bechance at Lyonnesse While I should sojourn there No prophet durst declare, Nor did the wisest wizard guess What would bechance at […]...
35. CHARADE Two words there are, both short, of beauty rare, Whose sounds our lips so often love to frame, But which with clearness never can proclaim The things whose own peculiar stamp they bear. ‘Tis well in days of age and youth so fair, One on the other boldly to inflame; And if those words together […]...
36. Dream Song 47: April Fool's Day, or, St Mary of Egypt —Thass a funny title, Mr Bones. €”When down she saw her feet, sweet fish, on the threshold, She considered her fair shoulders And all them hundreds who have them, all The more who to her mime thickened & maled From the supple stage, And seeing her feet, in a visit, side by side Paused on […]...
37. LETTER TO MICHAEL HOROVITZ It is time after thirty years We had our Poetry Renaissance Rise, Children of Albion, rise! It is time after nightmares of sleep When we walked the streets of inner cities Our poems among the burnt-out houses And cars, whispering compassion To the addicts shaking and the homeless Waking and those who have come apart […]...
38. To Vernon Lee On Bellosguardo, when the year was young, We wandered, seeking for the daffodil And dark anemone, whose purples fill The peasant’s plot, between the corn-shoots sprung. Over the grey, low wall the olive flung Her deeper greyness ; far off, hill on hill Sloped to the sky, which, pearly-pale and still, Above the large and […]...
39. Said The Poet To The Analyst My business is words. Words are like labels, Or coins, or better, like swarming bees. I confess I am only broken by the sources of things; As if words were counted like dead bees in the attic, Unbuckled from their yellow eyes and their dry wings. I must always forget who one words is able […]...
40. Sonnet 76: Why is my verse so barren of new pride? Why is my verse so barren of new pride? So far from variation or quick change? Why with the time do I not glance aside To new-found methods, and to compounds strange? Why write I still all one, ever the same, And keep invention in a noted weed, That every word doth almost tell my […]...