The varied colours are a fitful heap:
They pass in constant service though they sleep;
The self gone out of them, therewith the pain:
Read that, who still to spell our earth remain.
More verses by George Meredith
- The Young Princess -- A Ballad Of Old Laws Of Love
- The Young Usurper
- The World's Advance
- Time And Sentiment
- To Alex. Smith, The 'Glasgow Poet,' On His Sonnet To 'Fame'