The Yellow Book/Volume 3/George Meredith

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George Meredith

By Morton Fullerton


Deepest and keenest of our time who paceThe variant by-paths of the uncertain heart,In undiscerned mysterious ways apart,Thou huntest on the Assyrian monster's trace:That sweeping-pinioned Thing—with human face,Poor Man, with wings hoof-weighted lest they startTo try the breeze above this human mart,In heights pre-occupied of a god-like race.
Among the stammering sophists of the ageThy words are absolute, thy vision true;No hand but thine is found to fit the gageThe Titan, Shakespeare, to a whole world threw.Till thou hadst boldly to his challenge sprung,No rival had he in our English tongue.
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