'Tis Christmas weather, and a country house <br />Receives us: rooms are full: we can but get <br />An attic-crib. Such lovers will not fret <br />At that, it is half-said. The great carouse <br />Knocks hard upon the midnight's hollow door, <br />But when I knock at hers, I see the pit. <br />Why did I come here in that dullard fit? <br />I enter, and lie couched upon the floor. <br />Passing, I caught the coverlet's quick beat:-- <br />Come, Shame, burn to my soul! and Pride, and Pain-- <br />Foul demons that have tortured me, enchain! <br />Out in the freezing darkness the lambs bleat. <br />The small bird stiffens in the low starlight. <br />I know not how, but shuddering as I slept, <br />I dreamed a banished angel to me crept: <br />My feet were nourished on her breasts all night.<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/modern-love-xxiii-tis-christmas-weather/
