George Meredith (जॉर्ज मेरेडिथ)

Above the rolling ball in cloud part screened,Where sinners hugged their spectre of repose.

Poor prey to his hot fit of pride were those,And now upon his western wing he leaned.

Now his huge bulk o'er Afric's sands careened,Now the black planet shadowed Arctic snows.

Soaring through wider zones that pricked his scars,With memory of the old revolt from Awe.

He reached a middle height, and at the stars,Which are the brain of heaven, he looked, and sank.

Around the ancient track marched, rank on rank,The army of unalterable law.

It is no vulgar nature I have wived,Secretive, sensitive, she takes a wound.

Deep to her soul, as if the sense had swooned,And not a thought of vengeance had survived.

No confidences has she: but relief,Must come to one whose suffering is acute.

O have a care of natures that are mute!,They punish you in acts: their steps are brief.

What is she doing? What does she demand,From Providence or me? She is not one.

Long to endure this torpidly, and shun,The drugs that crowd about a woman's hand.

At Forfeits during snow we played, and I,Must kiss her. 'Well performed!' I said: then she.

''Tis hardly worth the money, you agree?',Save her? What for? To act this wedded lie!.

What may the woman labour to confess?,There is about her mouth a nervous twitch.

'Tis something to be told, or hidden:--which?,I get a glimpse of hell in this mild guess.

She has desires of touch, as if to feel,That all the household things are things she knew.

She stops before the glass. What sight in view?,A face that seems the latest to reveal!.

For she turns from it hastily, and tossed,Irresolute, steals shadow-like to where.

I stand; and wavering pale before me there,Her tears fall still as oak-leaves after frost.

She will not speak. I will not ask. We are,League-sundered by the silent gulf between.

Yon burly lovers on the village green,Yours is a lower, and a happier star!.

WHEN by Zeus relenting the mandate was revoked,Sentencing to exile the bright Sun-God.

Mindful were the ploughmen of who the steer had yoked,Who: and what a track show'd the upturn'd sod!.

Mindful were the shepherds, as now the noon severe,Bent a burning eyebrow to brown evetide.

How the rustic flute drew the silver to the sphere,Sister of his own, till her rays fell wide.

God! of whom music,And song and blood are pure.

The day is never darken'd,That had thee here obscure.

Chirping none, the scarlet cicalas crouch'd in ranks,Slack the thistle-head piled its down-silk gray.

Scarce the stony lizard suck'd hollows in his flanks,Thick on spots of umbrage our drowsed flocks lay.

Sudden bow'd the chestnuts beneath a wind unheard,Lengthen'd ran the grasses, the sky grew slate.

Then amid a swift flight of wing'd seed white as curd,Clear of limb a Youth smote the master's gate.

Water, first of singers, o'er rocky mount and mead,First of earthly singers, the sun-loved rill.

Sang of him, and flooded the ripples on the reed,Seeking whom to waken and what ear fill.

Water, sweetest soother to kiss a wound and cool,Sweetest and divinest, the sky-born brook.

Chuckled, with a whimper, and made a mirror-pool,Round the guest we welcomed, the strange hand shook.

Many swarms of wild bees descended on our fields,Stately stood the wheatstalk with head bent high.

Big of heart we labour'd at storing mighty yields,Wool and corn, and clusters to make men cry!.

Hand-like rush'd the vintage; we strung the bellied skins,Plump, and at the sealing the Youth's voice rose.

Maidens clung in circle, on little fists their chins,Gentle beasties through push'd a cold long nose.

Foot to fire in snowtime we trimm'd the slender shaft,Often down the pit spied the lean wolf's teeth.

Grin against his will, trapp'd by masterstrokes of craft,Helpless in his froth-wrath as green logs seethe!.

Safe the tender lambs tugg'd the teats, and winter sped,Whirl'd before the crocus, the year's new gold.

Hung the hooky beak up aloft, the arrowhead,Redden'd through his feathers for our dear fold.

Tales we drank of giants at war with gods above,Rocks were they to look on, and earth climb'd air!.

Tales of search for simples, and those who sought of love,Ease because the creature was all too fair.

Pleasant ran our thinking that while our work was good,Sure as fruits for sweat would the praise come fast.

Above the rolling ball in cloud part screened,Where sinners hugged their spectre of repose.

Poor prey to his hot fit of pride were those,And now upon his western wing he leaned.

Now his huge bulk o'er Afric's sands careened,Now the black planet shadowed Arctic snows.

Soaring through wider zones that pricked his scars,With memory of the old revolt from Awe.

He reached a middle height, and at the stars,Which are the brain of heaven, he looked, and sank.

Around the ancient track marched, rank on rank,The army of unalterable law.

It is no vulgar nature I have wived,Secretive, sensitive, she takes a wound.

Deep to her soul, as if the sense had swooned,And not a thought of vengeance had survived.

No confidences has she: but relief,Must come to one whose suffering is acute.

O have a care of natures that are mute!,They punish you in acts: their steps are brief.

What is she doing? What does she demand,From Providence or me? She is not one.

Long to endure this torpidly, and shun,The drugs that crowd about a woman's hand.

At Forfeits during snow we played, and I,Must kiss her. 'Well performed!' I said: then she.

''Tis hardly worth the money, you agree?',Save her? What for? To act this wedded lie!.

What may the woman labour to confess?,There is about her mouth a nervous twitch.

'Tis something to be told, or hidden:--which?,I get a glimpse of hell in this mild guess.

She has desires of touch, as if to feel,That all the household things are things she knew.

She stops before the glass. What sight in view?,A face that seems the latest to reveal!.

For she turns from it hastily, and tossed,Irresolute, steals shadow-like to where.

I stand; and wavering pale before me there,Her tears fall still as oak-leaves after frost.

She will not speak. I will not ask. We are,League-sundered by the silent gulf between.

Yon burly lovers on the village green,Yours is a lower, and a happier star!.

WHEN by Zeus relenting the mandate was revoked,Sentencing to exile the bright Sun-God.

Mindful were the ploughmen of who the steer had yoked,Who: and what a track show'd the upturn'd sod!.

Mindful were the shepherds, as now the noon severe,Bent a burning eyebrow to brown evetide.

How the rustic flute drew the silver to the sphere,Sister of his own, till her rays fell wide.

God! of whom music,And song and blood are pure.

The day is never darken'd,That had thee here obscure.

Chirping none, the scarlet cicalas crouch'd in ranks,Slack the thistle-head piled its down-silk gray.

Scarce the stony lizard suck'd hollows in his flanks,Thick on spots of umbrage our drowsed flocks lay.

Sudden bow'd the chestnuts beneath a wind unheard,Lengthen'd ran the grasses, the sky grew slate.

Then amid a swift flight of wing'd seed white as curd,Clear of limb a Youth smote the master's gate.

Water, first of singers, o'er rocky mount and mead,First of earthly singers, the sun-loved rill.

Sang of him, and flooded the ripples on the reed,Seeking whom to waken and what ear fill.

Water, sweetest soother to kiss a wound and cool,Sweetest and divinest, the sky-born brook.

Chuckled, with a whimper, and made a mirror-pool,Round the guest we welcomed, the strange hand shook.

Many swarms of wild bees descended on our fields,Stately stood the wheatstalk with head bent high.

Big of heart we labour'd at storing mighty yields,Wool and corn, and clusters to make men cry!.

Hand-like rush'd the vintage; we strung the bellied skins,Plump, and at the sealing the Youth's voice rose.

Maidens clung in circle, on little fists their chins,Gentle beasties through push'd a cold long nose.

Foot to fire in snowtime we trimm'd the slender shaft,Often down the pit spied the lean wolf's teeth.

Grin against his will, trapp'd by masterstrokes of craft,Helpless in his froth-wrath as green logs seethe!.

Safe the tender lambs tugg'd the teats, and winter sped,Whirl'd before the crocus, the year's new gold.

Hung the hooky beak up aloft, the arrowhead,Redden'd through his feathers for our dear fold.

Tales we drank of giants at war with gods above,Rocks were they to look on, and earth climb'd air!.

Tales of search for simples, and those who sought of love,Ease because the creature was all too fair.

Pleasant ran our thinking that while our work was good,Sure as fruits for sweat would the praise come fast.

Above the rolling ball in cloud part screened,Where sinners hugged their spectre of repose.

Poor prey to his hot fit of pride were those,And now upon his western wing he leaned.

Now his huge bulk o'er Afric's sands careened,Now the black planet shadowed Arctic snows.

Soaring through wider zones that pricked his scars,With memory of the old revolt from Awe.

He reached a middle height, and at the stars,Which are the brain of heaven, he looked, and sank.

Around the ancient track marched, rank on rank,The army of unalterable law.

It is no vulgar nature I have wived,Secretive, sensitive, she takes a wound.