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. A Ballad of Past Meridian
2. At the Funeral
3. Modern Love. Sonnet 27. Distraction is the Panacea, Sir!
4. Modern Love. Sonnet 8. Yet it was Plain She Struggled, and that Salt
5. King Harald's Trance

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