Ask, is Love divine,
Voices all are, ay.
Question for the sign,
There's a common sigh.
Would we, through our years,
Love forego,
Quit of scars and tears?
Ah, but no, no, no!
More verses by George Meredith
- The Flower Of The Ruins
- A Preaching From A Spanish Ballad
- Modern Love Xvi: In Our Old Shipwrecked Days
- Aneurin's Harp
- The Death Of Winter
