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George Meredith (Джордж Мередит)


Winter Heavens


Sharp is the night, but stars with frost alive
Leap off the rim of earth across the dome.
It is a night to make the heavens our home
More than the nest whereto apace we strive.
Lengths down our road each fir-tree seems a hive,
In swarms outrushing from the golden comb.
They waken waves of thoughts that burst to foam:
The living throb in me, the dead revive.
Yon mantle clothes us: there, past mortal breath,
Life glistens on the river of the death.
It folds us, flesh and dust; and have we knelt,
Or never knelt, or eyed as kine the springs
Of radiance, the radiance enrings:
And this is the soul's haven to have felt. 



George Meredith's other poems:
  1. The Call
  2. Modern Love. Sonnet 33. In Paris, at the Louvre
  3. Modern Love. Sonnet 35. It is no Vulgar Nature
  4. Modern Love. Sonnet 39. She Yields: my Lady in her Noblest Mood
  5. Modern Love. Sonnet 8. Yet it was Plain She Struggled, and that Salt


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