Modern Love: XXVII
Distraction is the panacea, Sir! I hear my oracle of Medicine say. Doctor! that same specific yesterday I tried, and the result will not deter A second trial. Is the devil’s line Of golden hair, or raven black, composed? And does a cheek, like any sea-shell rosed, Or clear as widowed sky, seem most divine? No matter, so I taste forgetfulness. And if the devil snare me, body and mind, Here gratefully I score:—he seemëd kind, When not a soul would comfort my distress! O sweet new world, in which I rise new made! O Lady, once I gave love: now I take! Lady, I must be flattered. Shouldst thou wake The passion of a demon, be not afraid.
This poem is in the public domain.
George Meredith was born in Portsmouth, England, on February 12, 1828.
Date Published: 1909-01-01
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/modern-love-xxvii