Poems by George Meredith Volume Iii Part 4

'LOVE IS WINGED FOR TWO'

Love is winged for two, In the worst he weathers, When their hearts are tied; But if they divide, O too true!

Cracks a globe, and feathers, feathers, Feathers all the ground bestrew.

I was breast of morning sea, Rosy plume on forest dun, I the laugh in rainy fleeces, While with me She made one.

Now must we pick up our pieces, For that then so winged were we.

'ASK, IS LOVE DIVINE'

Ask, is Love divine, Voices all are, ay.

Question for the sign, There's a common sigh.

Would we, through our years, Love forego, Quit of scars and tears?

Ah, but no, no, no!

'JOY IS FLEET'

Joy is fleet, Sorrow slow.

Love, so sweet, Sorrow will sow.

Love, that has flown Ere day's decline, Love to have known, Sorrow, be mine!

THE LESSON OF GRIEF

Not ere the bitter herb we taste, Which ages thought of happy times, To plant us in a weeping waste, Rings with our fellows this one heart Accordant chimes.

When I had shed my glad year's leaf, I did believe I stood alone, Till that great company of Grief Taught me to know this craving heart For not my own.

WIND ON THE LYRE

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 s.h.i.+vers through; The breast of us a sounded sh.e.l.l, The blood of us a lighted dew.

THE YOUTHFUL QUEST

His Lady queen of woods to meet, He wanders day and night: The leaves have whisperings discreet, The mossy ways invite.

Across a l.u.s.trous ring of s.p.a.ce, By covert hoods and caves, Is promise of her secret face In film that onward waves.

For darkness is the light astrain, Astrain for light the dark.

A grey moth down a larches' lane Unwinds a ghostly spark.

Her lamp he sees, and young desire Is fed while cloaked she flies.

She quivers shot of violet fire To ash at look of eyes.

THE EMPTY PURSE--A SERMON TO OUR LATER PRODIGAL SON

Thou, run to the dry on this wayside bank, Too plainly of all the propellers bereft!

Quenched youth, and is that thy purse?

Even such limp slough as the snake has left Slack to the gale upon spikes of whin, For cast-off coat of a life gone blank, In its frame of a grin at the seeker, is thine; And thine to crave and to curse The sweet thing once within.

Accuse him: some devil committed the theft, Which leaves of the portly a skin, No more; of the weighty a whine.

Pursue him: and first, to be sure of his track, Over devious ways that have led to this, In the stream's consecutive line, Let memory lead thee back To where waves Morning her fleur-de-lys, Unflushed at the front of the roseate door Unopened yet: never shadow there Of a Tartarus lighted by Dis For souls whose cry is, alack!

An ivory cradle rocks, apeep Through his eyelashes' laugh, a breathing pearl.

There the young chief of the animals wore A likeness to heavenly hosts, unaware Of his love of himself; with the hours at leap.

In a dingle away from a rutted highroad, Around him the earliest throstle and merle, Our human smile between milk and sleep, Effervescent of Nature he crowed.

Fair was that season; furl over furl The banners of blossom; a dancing floor This earth; very angels the clouds; and fair Thou on the tablets of forehead and breast: Careless, a centre of vigilant care.

Thy mother kisses an infant curl.

The room of the toys was a boundless nest, A kingdom the field of the games, Till entered the craving for more, And the wors.h.i.+pped small body had aims.

A good little idol, as records attest, When they tell of him lightly appeased in a scream By sweets and caresses: he gave but sign That the heir of a purse-plumped dominant race, Accustomed to plenty, not dumb would pine.

Almost magician, his earliest dream Was lord of the unpossessed For a look; himself and his chase, As on puffs of a wind at whirl, Made one in the wink of a gleam.

She kisses a locket curl, She conjures to vision a cherub face, When her b.u.t.terfly counted his day All meadow and flowers, mishap Derided, and taken for play The fling of an urchin's cap.

When her b.u.t.terfly showed him an eaglet born, For preying too heedlessly bred, What a heart clapped in thee then!

With what fuller colours of morn!

And high to the uttermost heavens it flew, Swift as on poet's pen.

It flew to be wedded, to wed The mystery scented around: Issue of flower and dew, Issue of light and sound: Thinner than either; a thread Spun of the dream they threw To kindle, allure, evade.

It ran the sea-wave, the garden's dance, To the forest's dark heart down a dappled glade; Led on by a peris.h.i.+ng glance, By a twinkle's eternal waylaid.

Woman, the name was, when she took form; Sheaf of the wonders of life. She fled, Close imaged; she neared, far seen. How she made Palpitate earth of the living and dead!

Did she not show thee the world designed Solely for loveliness? Nested warm, The day was the morrow in flight. And for thee, She muted the discords, tuned, refined; Drowned sharp edges beneath her cloak.

Eye of the waters, and throb of the tree, Sliding on radiance, winging from shade, With her witch-whisper o'er ruins, in reeds, She sang low the song of her promise delayed; Beckoned and died, as a finger of smoke Astream over woodland. And was not she History's heroines white on storm?

Remember her summons to valorous deeds.

Shone she a lure of the honey-bag swarm, Most was her beam on the knightly: she led For the honours of manhood more than the prize; Waved her magnetical yoke Whither the warrior bled, Ere to the bower of sighs.

And shy of her secrets she was; under deeps Plunged at the breath of a thirst that woke The dream in the cave where the Dreaded sleeps.

Away over heaven the young heart flew, And caught many l.u.s.tres, till some one said (Or was it the thought into hearing grew?), NOT THOU AS COMMONER MEN!