The Charm

LIKE crimson lamps the tulips swing,
The lily flowers their incense bring,
The daisies votive garlands fling
Before the altar of the Spring.

And you and I in this green May,
When thrushes sing, and white lambs play,
Go glad at heart--so glad and gay,
No word seems good enough to say.

Yet there's a charm, it would appear,
Which, if I spoke it in your ear,
Would fix the spring for ever here;
Pass on--I will not speak it, dear.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Prelude

OUT of the west when the sun was dying
Clouds of white wings came flying, flying,
Wheeling and whirling they swept away
Into the heart of the eastern gray;
But one white dove came straight to my breast
Out of the west.

Into the west when the dawn was pearly
Clouds of white wings went, dewy-early,
Straight from the world of the waning stars;
O beating pinions! O prison bars!
My dove flies free no more with the rest
Into the west.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Quand Meme

AGE pauses on his toilsome way
To let youth pluck her flowers of play;
Flowers are not always, but we may
Cut thorns and thistles any day.

Would Fate but hold her hand one hour,
Then might we pluck love's perfect flower;
Yet full security might miss
The perfume of one hour like this.

For all our joys are snatched from Fate,
Through years her ban makes desolate;
We wrest our love from doubt and fear,
And find it so more sweet, more dear.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Ghost

NOW that the curtains are drawn close
Now that the fire burns low,
And on her narrow bed the rose
Is stark laid out in snow;
Now that the wind of winter blows
Bid my heart say if still it knows
The step it used to know.

I hear the silken gown you wear
Sweep on the gallery floor,
Your step comes up the wide, dark stair
And pauses at my door.
My heart with the old hope flowers fair--
That shrivels to the old despair,
For you come in no more!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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New Year Snow

THE white snow falls on hill and dale,
The snow falls white by square and street,
Falls on the town, a bridal veil,
And on the fields a winding-sheet.

A winding-sheet for last year's flowers,
For last year's love, and last year's tear,
A bridal veil for the New Hours,
For the New Love and the New Year.

Soft snow, spread out his winding-sheet!
Spin fine her veil, O bridal snow!
Cover the print of her dancing feet,
And the place where he lies low.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Prodigal's Return

I reach my hand to thee!
Stoop; take my hand in thine;
Lead me where I would be,
Father divine.
I do not even know
The way I want to go,
The way that leads to rest:
But, Thou who knowest me,
Lead where I cannot see,
Thou knowest best.

Toys, worthless, yet desired,
Drew me afar to roam.
Father, I am so tired;
I am come home.
The love I held so cheap
I see, so dear, so deep,
So almost understood.
Life is so cold and wild,
I am thy little child -

[...] Read more

poem by Edith Nesbit
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A Parting

So good-bye!
This is where we end it, you and I.
Life's to live, you know, and death's to die;
So good-bye!

I was yours
For the love in life that loves while life endures,
For the earth-path that the Heaven-flight ensures
I was yours.

You were mine
For the moment that a garland takes to twine,
For the human hour that sorcery shews divine
You were mine.

All is over.
You and I no more are love and lover;
Nought's to seek now, gain, attain, discover.
All is over.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Age To Youth

Sunrise is in your eyes, and in your heart
The hope and bright desire of morn and May.
My eyes are full of shadow, and my part
Of life is yesterday.

Yet lend my hand your hand, and let us sit
And see your life unfolding like a scroll,
Rich with illuminated blazon, fit
For your arm-bearing soul.

My soul bears arms too, but the scroll's rolled tight,
Yet the one strip of faded brightness shown
Proclaims that when 'twas splendid in the light
Its blazon matched your own.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Christmas Roses

THE summer roses all are gone--
Dead, laid in shroud of rain-wet mould;
And passion's lightning time is done,
And Love is laid out white and cold.
Summer and youth for us are dead,
What do old age and winter bring instead?

They bring us memories of old years,
And Christmas roses, cold and sweet,
Which, washed by not unhappy tears,
I bring and lay beside your feet,
With gifts that come with flowers like these--
Friendship, remembrance of our past, and peace!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Last Betrayal

AND I shall lie alone at last,
Clear of the stream that ran so fast,
And feel the flower roots in my hair,
And in my hands the roots of trees;
Myself wrapt in the ungrudging peace
That leaves no pain uncovered anywhere.

What--this hope left? this way not barred?
This last best treasure without guard?
This heaven free--no prayers to pay?
Fool--are the Rulers of men asleep?
Thou knowest what tears They bade thee weep,
But, when peace comes, 'tis thou wilt sleep, not They.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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