Poem by George Meredith

Modern Love. Sonnet 43. Mark where the Pressing Wind Shoots Javelin-like

MARK where the pressing wind shoots javelin-like,
Its skeleton shadow on the broad-back'd wave!
Here is a fitting spot to dig Love's grave;
Here where the ponderous breakers plunge and strike,
And dart their hissing tongues high up the sand:
In hearing of the ocean, and in sight
Of those ribb'd wind-streaks running into white.
If I the death of Love had deeply plann'd,
I never could have made it half so sure,
As by the unblest kisses which upbraid
The full-waked sense; or failing that, degrade!
'Tis morning: but no morning can restore
What we have forfeited. I see no sin:
The wrong is mix'd. In tragic life, God wot,
No villain need be! Passions spin the plot:
We are betray'd by what is false within. 

1. Modern Love. Sonnet 8. Yet it was Plain She Struggled, and that Salt
2. Modern Love. Sonnet 27. Distraction is the Panacea, Sir!
3. Angela Burdett-Coutts
4. Modern Love. Sonnet 23. 'Tis Christmas Weather
5. Modern Love. Sonnet 2. It Ended

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