George Meredith (Джордж Мередит)

Modern Love. Sonnet 20. I am not of those Miserable Males

I am not of those miserable males
Who sniff at vice, and, daring not to snap,
Do therefore hope for heaven. I take the hap
Of all my deeds. The wind that fills my sails,
Propels; but I am helmsman. Am I wrecked,
I know the devil has sufficient weight
To bear: I lay it not on him, or fate.
Besides, he's damned. That man I do suspect
A coward, who would burden the poor deuce
With what ensues from his own slipperiness.
I have just found a wanton-scented tress
In an old desk, dusty for lack of use.
Of days and nights it is demonstrative,
That, like some aged star, gleam luridly.
If for those times I must ask charity,
Have I not any charity to give?

1. The Call
2. Modern Love. Sonnet 8. Yet it was Plain She Struggled, and that Salt
3. Modern Love. Sonnet 33. In Paris, at the Louvre
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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