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Modern Love XLVIII: Their Sense

 Their sense is with their senses all mixed in, 
Destroyed by subleties these women are! 
More brain, O Lord, more brain! or we shall mar 
Utterly this fair garden we might win.
Behold! I looked for peace, and thought it near.
Our inmost hearts had opened, each to each.
We drank the pure daylight of honest speech.
Alas I that was the fatal draught, I fear.
For when of my lost Lady came the word, This woman, O this agony of flesh! Jealous devotion bade her break the mesh, That I might seek that other like a bird.
I do adore the nobleness! despise The act! She has gone forth, I know not where.
Will the hard world my sentience of her share? I feel the truth; so let the world surmise.

by George Meredith
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