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George Meredith - ContinuedGeorge Meredith - Continued
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How smiles he at a generation ranked In gloomy noddings over life! They pass. Not he to feed upon a breast unthanked, Or eye a beauteous face in a cracked glass. But he can spy that little twist of brain Which moved some weighty leader of the blind, Unwitting `twas the goad of personal pain, To view in curst eclipse our Mother`s mind, And show us of some rigid harridan The wretched bondmen till the end of time. O lived the Master now to paint us Man, That little twist of brain would ring a chime Of whence it came and what it caused, to start Thunders of laughter, clearing air and heart.
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