Meredith read by Classic Poetry Aloud:

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Giving voice to the poetry of the past.

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Love’s Grave

by George Meredith (1828 – 1909)

Mark where the pressing wind shoots javelin-like,

Its skeleton shadow on the broad-back'd wave!

Here is a fitting spot to dig Love's grave;

Here where the ponderous breakers plunge and strike,

And dart their hissing tongues high up the sand

In hearing of the ocean, and in sight

Of those ribb'd wind-streaks running into white.

If I the death of Love had deeply plann'd,

I never could have made it half so sure,

As by the unblest kisses which upbraid

The full-waked sense; or failing that, degrade!

'Tis morning: but no morning can restore

What we have forfeited. I see no sin:

The wrong is mix'd. In tragic life, God wot,

No villain need be! Passions spin the plot:

We are betray'd by what is false within.

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