Poem by George Meredith

Modern Love. Sonnet 20. I am not of those Miserable Males

I am not of those miserable males
Who sniff at vice, and, daring not to snap,
Do therefore hope for heaven. I take the hap
Of all my deeds. The wind that fills my sails,
Propels; but I am helmsman. Am I wrecked,
I know the devil has sufficient weight
To bear: I lay it not on him, or fate.
Besides, he's damned. That man I do suspect
A coward, who would burden the poor deuce
With what ensues from his own slipperiness.
I have just found a wanton-scented tress
In an old desk, dusty for lack of use.
Of days and nights it is demonstrative,
That, like some aged star, gleam luridly.
If for those times I must ask charity,
Have I not any charity to give?

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

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