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George Meredith (Джордж Мередит)


Modern Love. Sonnet 37. Along the Garden Terrace


Along the garden terrace, under which
A purple valley (lighted at its edge
By smoky torch-flame on the long cloud-ledge
Whereunder dropped the chariot), glimmers rich,
A quiet company we pace, and wait
The dinner-bell in prae-digestive calm.
So sweet up violet banks the Southern balm
Breathes round, we care not if the bell be late;
Though here and there grey seniors question Time
In irritable coughings. With slow foot
The low rosed moon, the face of Music mute,
Begins among her silent bars to climb.
As in and out, in silvery dusk, we thread,
I hear the laugh of Madam and discern
My Lady's heel before me at each turn.
Our tragedy, is it alive or dead? 



George Meredith's other poems:
  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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