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George Meredith (Джордж Мередит)


Modern Love. Sonnet 35. It is no Vulgar Nature


It is no vulgar nature I have wived.
Secretive, sensitive, she takes a wound
Deep to her soul, as if the sense had swooned,
And not a thought of vengeance had survived.
No confidences has she: but relief
Must come to one whose suffering is acute.
O have a care of natures that are mute!
They punish you in acts: their steps are brief.
What is she doing? What does she demand
From Providence or me? She is not one
Long to endure this torpidly, and shun
The drugs that crowd about a woman's hand.
At Forfeits during snow we played, and I
Must kiss her. 'Well performed!' I said: then she:
''Tis hardly worth the money, you agree?'
Save her? What for? To act this wedded lie!



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 39. She Yields: my Lady in her Noblest Mood
  5. Modern Love. Sonnet 16. In our Old Shipwrecked Days


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