At dinner, she is hostess, I am host.
Went the feast ever cheerfuller? She keeps
The Topic over intellectual deeps
In buoyancy afloat. They see no ghost.
With sparkling surface-eyes we ply the ball:
It is in truth a most contagious game:
Hiding the Skeleton, shall be its name.
Such play as this the devils might appal!
But here's the greater wonder; in that we,
Enamoured of an acting nought can tire,
Each other, like true hypocrites, admire;
Warm-lighted looks, Love's ephemerioe,
Shoot gaily o'er the dishes and the wine.
We waken envy of our happy lot.
Fast, sweet, and golden, shows the marriage-knot.
Dear guests, you now have seen Love's corpse-light shine.
-- George Meredith
Meredith posed for "The Death of Chatterton" by Hall Wallis (1856) [above].
I was amazed by these poems when I first read them in the '70s. They did indeed seem very modern and brilliantly executed. It was hard to find a copy back then---I remember I had a xerox of the whole thing.
Posted by: Terence Winch | April 09, 2022 at 06:58 PM
I agree with Terence. I had a xerox, too, and my young self thought they were brilliant and meaningful. Now looking through the other end of the telescope, they seem even more brilliant but decidedly chilling.
Posted by: jim c | April 09, 2022 at 08:52 PM