Edith Nesbit

(15 August 1858 – 4 May 1924 / Kennington / Surrey / England)

Edith Nesbit Poems

281. To Her: In Time Of War 4/19/2010
282. To His Lady 4/19/2010
283. To His Lady, 4/19/2010
284. To Hubert 4/19/2010
285. To Iris 4/19/2010
286. To One Who Bade Him Work 4/19/2010
287. To One Who Pleaded For Candour In Love 4/19/2010
288. To Rosamund 4/19/2010
289. To The Queen Of England 4/19/2010
290. To Vera, Who Asked A Song 4/19/2010
291. Too Late 4/19/2010
292. Town And Country 4/19/2010
293. Trafalgar Day 4/19/2010
294. True Love And New Love 4/19/2010
295. Two Christmas Eves 4/19/2010
296. Two Voices 4/19/2010
297. Unofficial 4/19/2010
298. Until The Dawn 4/19/2010
299. Values 4/19/2010
300. Via Amoris 4/19/2010
301. Vies Manquees 4/19/2010
302. Villeggiature 1/3/2003
303. Waterloo Day 4/19/2010
304. Wedding Day 4/19/2010
305. When! 4/19/2010
306. White Magic 4/19/2010
307. Windflowers 4/19/2010
308. Winter 4/19/2010
309. Work 4/19/2010
Best Poem of Edith Nesbit

The Choice

PLAGUE take the dull and dusty town,
Its paved and sordid mazes,
Now Spring has trimmed her pretty gown
With buttercups and daisies!


With half my heart I long to lie
Among the flowered grasses,
And hear the loving leaves that sigh
As their sweet Mistress passes.


Through picture-shows I make my way
While flower-crowned maids go maying,
And all the cultured things I say
That cultured folk are saying.


For I renounce Spring's darling face,
With may-bloom fresh upon it:
My Mistress lives in Grosvenor-place
And wears...

Read the full of The Choice

A Tragedy

Among his books he sits all day
To think and read and write;
He does not smell the new-mown hay,
The roses red and white.

I walk among them all alone,
His silly, stupid wife;
The world seems tasteless, dead and done -
An empty thing is life.

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