Poem by George Meredith

Modern Love. Sonnet 42. I am to Follow Her

I am to follow her. There is much grace
In woman when thus bent on martyrdom.
They think that dignity of soul may come,
Perchance, with dignity of body. Base!
But I was taken by that air of cold
And statuesque sedateness, when she said
'I'm going'; lit a taper, bowed her head,
And went, as with the stride of Pallas bold.
Fleshly indifference horrible! The hands
Of Time now signal: O, she's safe from me!
Within those secret walls what do I see?
Where first she set the taper down she stands:
Not Pallas: Hebe shamed! Thoughts black as death,
Like a stirred pool in sunshine break. Her wrists
I catch: she faltering, as she half resists,
'You love...? love...? love ...?' all on an indrawn breath.

1. Modern Love. Sonnet 37. Along the Garden Terrace
2. Modern Love. Sonnet 39. She Yields: my Lady in her Noblest Mood
3. On Como
4. My Theme
5. Modern Love. Sonnet 46. At Last We Parley

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