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


Modern Love: 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.
Just heaven! can it be true that jealousy
Has decked the woman thus? and does her head
Swim somewhat for possessions forfeited?
Madam, you teach me many things that be.
I open an old book, and there I find,
That ‘Women still may love whom they deceive.’
Such love I prize not, madam: by your leave,
The game you play at is not to my mind.
 

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-xiv