'
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.
George Meredith (12 February 1828 – 18 May 1909) was an English novelist and poet of the Victorian era. He was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature seven times. His novels are noted for their wit, brilliant dialogue, and aphoristic quality of language.…
View profile & all 23 Poems / StoriesILast night returning from my twilight walk
As Puritans they prominently wax,And none more kindly gives and takes hard knocks.
On the morning of May,Ere the children had entered my gate
With sagest craft Arachne workedHer web, and at a corner lurked,
An inspiration caught from dubious huesFilled him, and mystic wrynesses he chased;
