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 24. The Misery is Greater, as I Live!
2. Empdeocles
3. On Como
4. Hawarden
5. Alternation

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