Poems — Volume 2 by George Meredith
page 52 of 296 (17%)
page 52 of 296 (17%)
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Drenched in wallowing devilry:
And you ask where you may be, In what reek of a lair Given to bones and ogre-broods: And they yell you Where. Enter these enchanted woods, You who dare. A BALLAD OF PAST MERIDIAN I Last night returning from my twilight walk I met the grey mist Death, whose eyeless brow Was bent on me, and from his hand of chalk He reached me flowers as from a withered bough: O Death, what bitter nosegays givest thou! II Death said, I gather, and pursued his way. Another stood by me, a shape in stone, Sword-hacked and iron-stained, with breasts of clay, And metal veins that sometimes fiery shone: O Life, how naked and how hard when known! |
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