Poem by George Meredith

Modern Love. Sonnet 31. This Golden Head has Wit in it

This golden head has wit in it. I live
Again, and a far higher life, near her.
Some women like a young philosopher;
Perchance because he is diminutive.
For woman's manly god must not exceed
Proportions of the natural nursing size.
Great poets and great sages draw no prize
With women: but the little lapdog breed,
Who can be hugged, or on a mantel-piece
Perched up for adoration, these obtain
Her homage. And of this we men are vain?
Of this! 'Tis ordered for the world's increase!
Small flattery! Yet she has that rare gift
To beauty, Common Sense. I am approved.
It is not half so nice as being loved,
And yet I do prefer it. What's my drift? 

1. Modern Love. Sonnet 38. Give to Imagination
2. Unknown Fair Faces
3. Modern Love. Sonnet 40. I Bade my Lady Think what She Might Mean
4. Modern Love. Sonnet 16. In our Old Shipwrecked Days
5. Empdeocles

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