We three are on the cedar-shadowed lawn; <br />My friend being third. He who at love once laughed, <br />Is in the weak rib by a fatal shaft <br />Struck through, and tells his passion's bashful dawn <br />And radiant culmination, glorious crown, <br />When 'this' she said: went 'thus': most wondrous she. <br />Our eyes grow white, encountering that we are three, <br />Forgetful; then together we look down. <br />But he demands our blessing; is convinced <br />That words of wedded lovers must bring good. <br />We question; if we dare! or if we should! <br />And pat him, with light laugh. We have not winced. <br />Next, she has fallen. Fainting points the sign <br />To happy things in wedlock. When she wakes, <br />She looks the star that thro' the cedar shakes: <br />Her lost moist hand clings mortally to mine.<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/modern-love-xxi-we-three-are/
