Quotes by George Meredith

Deals she an unkindness, ’tis but her rapid measure, Even as in a dance; and her smile can heal no less: Like the swinging May-cloud that pelts the flowers with hailstones Off a sunny border, she was made to bruise and bless. * * * Lovely are the curves of the white owl sweeping Wavy in the dusk lit by one large star. Lone on the fir-branch, his rattle-note unvaried, Brooding o’er the gloom, spins the brown eve-jar. Darker grows the valley, more and more forgetting: So were it with me if forgetting could be willed. Tell the grassy hollow that holds the bubbling well-spring, Tell it to forget the source that keeps it filled. * * * Stepping down the hill with her fair companions, Arm in arm, all against the raying West, Boldly she sings, to the merry tune she marches, Brave in her shape, and sweeter unpossessed. Sweeter, for she is what my heart first awaking Whispered the world was; morning light is she. Love that so desires would fain keep her changeless; Fain would fling the net, and fain have her free. * * * Happy happy time, when the white star hovers Low over dim fields fresh with bloomy dew, Near the face of dawn, that draws athwart the darkness, Threading it with colour, like yewberries the yew. Thicker crowd the shades as the grave East deepens Glowing, and with crimson a long cloud swells. Maiden still the morn is; and strange she is, and secret; Strange her eyes; her cheeks are cold as cold sea-shells. * * * Sunrays, leaning on our southern hills and lighting Wild cloud-mountains that drag the hills along, Oft ends the day of your shifting brilliant laughter Chill as a dull face frowning on a song. Ay, but shows the South-west a ripple-feathered bosom Blown to silver while the clouds are shaken and ascend Scaling the mid-heavens as they stream, there comes a sunset Rich, deep like love in beauty without end. * * * When at dawn she sighs, and like an infant to the window Turns grave eyes craving light, released from dreams, Beautiful she looks, like a white water-lily Bursting out of bud in havens of the streams.

Only mark The rich light striking out from her on him! Ha! what a sense it is when her eyes swim Across the man she singles, leaving dark All else! Lord God, who mad’st the thing so fair, See that I am drawn to her even now! It cannot be such harm on her cool brow To put a kiss? Yet if I meet him there! But she is mine! Ah, no! I know too well I claim a star whose light is overcast: I claim a phantom-woman in the Past. The hour has struck, though I heard not the bell! IV All other joys of life he strove to warm, And magnify, and catch them to his lip: But they had suffered shipwreck with the ship, And gazed upon him sallow from the storm. Or if Delusion came, ’twas but to show The coming minute mock the one that went. Cold as a mountain in its star-pitched tent, Stood high Philosophy, less friend than foe: Whom self-caged Passion, from its prison-bars, Is always watching with a wondering hate. Not till the fire is dying in the grate, Look we for any kinship with the stars. Oh, wisdom never comes when it is gold, And the great price we pay for it full worth: We have it only when we are half earth. Little avails that coinage to the old! V A message from her set his brain aflame. A world of household matters filled her mind, Wherein he saw hypocrisy designed: She treated him as something that is tame, And but at other provocation bites. Familiar was her shoulder in the glass, Through that dark rain: yet it may come to pass That a changed eye finds such familiar sights More keenly tempting than new loveliness. The ‘What has been’ a moment seemed his own: The splendours, mysteries, dearer because known, Nor less divine: Love’s inmost sacredness Called to him, ‘Come!’—In his restraining start, Eyes nurtured to be looked at scarce could see A wave of the great waves of Destiny Convulsed at a checked impulse of the heart. VI It chanced his lips did meet her forehead cool. She had no blush, but slanted down her eye. Shamed nature, then, confesses love can die: And most she punishes the tender fool Who will believe what honours her the most!

However, I see Mr. Richard is very kindly returning to help me." At these words heavy Benson instantly found his legs, and shambled on. Lady Blandish met Richard in dismay. "I have been horribly frightened," she said. "Tell me, what was the meaning of those cries I heard?" "Only some one doing justice on a spy," said Richard, and the lady smiled, and looked on him fondly, and put her hand through his hair. "Was that all? I should have done it myself if I had been a man. Kiss me." ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: And so Farewell my young Ambition! and with it farewell all true And to these instructions he gave an aim: "First be virtuous" In Sir Austin's Note-book was written: "Between Simple Boyhood..." It was now, as Sir Austin had written it down, The Magnetic Age Laying of ghosts is a public duty On the threshold of Puberty, there is one Unselfish Hour Seed-Time passed thus smoothly, and adolescence came on They believe that the angels have been busy about them Who rises from Prayer a better man, his prayer is answered Young as when she looked upon the lovers in Paradise You've got no friend but your bed *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ORDEAL OF RICHARD FEVEREL — VOLUME 2 *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark.

She took his hand, and walked with him, and seemed The wife he sought, though shadow-like and dry. She had one terror, lest her heart should sigh, And tell her loudly she no longer dreamed. She dared not say, ‘This is my breast: look in.’ But there’s a strength to help the desperate weak. That night he learned how silence best can speak The awful things when Pity pleads for Sin. About the middle of the night her call Was heard, and he came wondering to the bed. ‘Now kiss me, dear! it may be, now!’ she said. Lethe had passed those lips, and he knew all. L Thus piteously Love closed what he begat: The union of this ever-diverse pair! These two were rapid falcons in a snare, Condemned to do the flitting of the bat. Lovers beneath the singing sky of May, They wandered once; clear as the dew on flowers: But they fed not on the advancing hours: Their hearts held cravings for the buried day. Then each applied to each that fatal knife, Deep questioning, which probes to endless dole. Ah, what a dusty answer gets the soul When hot for certainties in this our life!— In tragic hints here see what evermore Moves dark as yonder midnight ocean’s force, Thundering like ramping hosts of warrior horse, To throw that faint thin fine upon the shore! THE PATRIOT ENGINEER ‘SIRS! may I shake your hands? My countrymen, I see! I’ve lived in foreign lands Till England’s Heaven to me. A hearty shake will do me good, And freshen up my sluggish blood.’ Into his hard right hand we struck, Gave the shake, and wish’d him luck. ‘—From Austria I come, An English wife to win, And find an English home, And live and die therein. Great Lord! how many a year I’ve pined To drink old ale and speak my mind!’ Loud rang our laughter, and the shout Hills round the Meuse-boat echoed about. ‘—Ay, no offence: laugh on, Young gentlemen: I’ll join. Had you to exile gone, Where free speech is base coin, You’d sigh to see the jolly nose Where Freedom’s native liquor flows!

Now, as then, the grace Of heaven seems holding earth in its embrace. Nor eyes, nor heart, has she to feel it strange? Look, woman, in the West. There wilt thou see An amber cradle near the sun’s decline: Within it, featured even in death divine, Is lying a dead infant, slain by thee. XII Not solely that the Future she destroys, And the fair life which in the distance lies For all men, beckoning out from dim rich skies: Nor that the passing hour’s supporting joys Have lost the keen-edged flavour, which begat Distinction in old times, and still should breed Sweet Memory, and Hope,—earth’s modest seed, And heaven’s high-prompting: not that the world is flat Since that soft-luring creature I embraced Among the children of Illusion went: Methinks with all this loss I were content, If the mad Past, on which my foot is based, Were firm, or might be blotted: but the whole Of life is mixed: the mocking Past will stay: And if I drink oblivion of a day, So shorten I the stature of my soul. XIII ‘I play for Seasons; not Eternities!’ Says Nature, laughing on her way. ‘So must All those whose stake is nothing more than dust!’ And lo, she wins, and of her harmonies She is full sure! Upon her dying rose She drops a look of fondness, and goes by, Scarce any retrospection in her eye; For she the laws of growth most deeply knows, Whose hands bear, here, a seed-bag—there, an urn. Pledged she herself to aught, ’twould mark her end! This lesson of our only visible friend Can we not teach our foolish hearts to learn? Yes! yes!—but, oh, our human rose is fair Surpassingly! Lose calmly Love’s great bliss, When the renewed for ever of a kiss Whirls life within the shower of loosened hair! XIV What soul would bargain for a cure that brings Contempt the nobler agony to kill? Rather let me bear on the bitter ill, And strike this rusty bosom with new stings! It seems there is another veering fit, Since on a gold-haired lady’s eyeballs pure I looked with little prospect of a cure, The while her mouth’s red bow loosed shafts of wit.