Madam would speak with me. So, now it comes: <br /> The Deluge or else Fire! She's well, she thanks <br /> My husbandship. Our chain on silence clanks. <br /> Time leers between, above his twiddling thumbs. <br /> Am I quite well? Most excellent in health! <br /> The journals, too, I diligently peruse. <br /> Vesuvius is expected to give news: <br /> Niagara is no noisier. By stealth <br /> Our eyes dart scrutinizing snakes. She's glad <br /> I'm happy, says her quivering under-lip. <br /> "And are not you?" "How can I be?" "Take ship! <br /> For happiness is somewhere to be had." <br /> "Nowhere for me!" Her voice is barely heard. <br /> I am not melted, and make no pretence. <br /> With commonplace I freeze her, tongue and sense. <br /> Niagara or Vesuvius is deferred.<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/modern-love-xxxiv/
