Poem by George Meredith

My Theme

Of me and of my theme think what thou wilt:
The song of gladness one straight bolt can check.
But I have never stood at Fortune's beck:
Were she and her light crew to run atilt
At my poor holding little would be spilt;
Small were the praise for singing o'er that wreck.
Who courts her dooms to strife his bended neck;
He grasps a blade, not always by the hilt.
Nathless she strikes at random, can be fell
With other than those votaries she deals
The black or brilliant from her thunder-rift.
I say but that this love of Earth reveals
A soul beside our own to quicken, quell,
Irradiate, and through ruinous floods uplift.

1. Modern Love. Sonnet 31. This Golden Head has Wit in it
2. Angela Burdett-Coutts
3. Modern Love. Sonnet 27. Distraction is the Panacea, Sir!
4. King Harald's Trance
5. Atkins

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