Poem by George Meredith

Modern Love. Sonnet 3. This Was the Woman

This was the woman; what now of the man?
But pass him. If he comes beneath a heel,
He shall be crushed until he cannot feel,
Or, being callous, haply till he can.
But he is nothing: -- nothing? Only mark
The rich light striking out from her on him!
Ha! what a sense it is when her eyes swim
Across the man she singles, leaving dark
All else! Lord God, who mad'st the thing so fair,
See that I am drawn to her even now!
It cannot be such harm on her cool brow
To put a kiss? Yet if I meet him there!
But she is mine! Ah, no! I know too well
I claim a star whose light is overcast:
I claim a phantom-woman in the Past.
The hour has struck, though I heard not the bell!

1. A Ballad of Past Meridian
2. Alternation
3. At the Funeral
4. Modern Love. Sonnet 31. This Golden Head has Wit in it
5. Modern Love. Sonnet 27. Distraction is the Panacea, Sir!

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