Full faith I have she holds that rarest gift
To beauty, Common Sense. To see her lie
With her fair visage an inverted sky
Bloom-covered, while the underlids uplift,
Would almost wreck the faith; but when her mouth
(Can it kiss sweetly? sweetly!) would address
The inner me that thirsts for her no less,
And has so long been languishing in drouth,
I feel that I am matched; that I am man!
One restless corner of my heart or head,
That holds a dying something never dead,
Still frets, though Nature giveth all she can.
It means, that woman is not, I opine,
Her sex’s antidote. Who seeks the asp
For serpent’s bites? ‘Twould calm me could I clasp
Shrieking Bacchantes with their souls of wine!
(George Meredith)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Beauty Poems, Belief & Faith Poems, Woman Poems, Wine PoemsBased on Keywords: drouth, uplift, matched, inverted, giveth, antidote, rarest, opine, thirsts, languishing, frets