Published on Academy of American Poets (https://poets.org)


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.

Credit


This poem is in the public domain.

Author


George Meredith

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