George Meredith (Джордж Мередит)

By Morning Twilight

Night, like a dying mother,
Eyes her young offspring, Day.
The birds are dreamily piping.
And O, my love, my darling!
The night is life ebb'd away:
Away beyond our reach!
A sea that has cast us pale on the beach;
Weeds with the weeds and the pebbles
That hear the lone tamarisk rooted in sand
Sway
With the song of the sea to the land. 

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

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