George Meredith (Джордж Мередит)

Modern Love. Sonnet 34. Madam Would Speak with Me

Madam would speak with me. So, now it comes:
The Deluge or the Fire! She's well; she thanks
My husbandship. Our chain on silence clanks.
Time leers between, above his twiddling thumbs.
Am I quite well? Most excellent in health!
The journals, too, I diligently peruse.
Vesuvius is expected to give news:
Niagra is no noisier. By stealth
Our eyes dart scrutinizing snakes. She's glad
I'm happy, says her quivering under-lip.
'And are not you?' 'How can I be?' 'Take ship!
For happiness is somewhere to be had.'
'Nowhere for me!' Her voice is barely heard.
I am not melted, and make no pretence.
With commonplace I freeze her, tongue and sense.
Niagra or Vesuvius is deferred.

1. Modern Love. Sonnet 23. 'Tis Christmas Weather
2. Modern Love. Sonnet 8. Yet it was Plain She Struggled, and that Salt
3. Modern Love. Sonnet 46. At Last We Parley
4. A Ballad of Past Meridian
5. Modern Love. Sonnet 27. Distraction is the Panacea, Sir!

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