Edith Nesbit

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

Edith Nesbit Poems

161. Song Vi 4/19/2010
162. Song Vii 4/19/2010
163. Special Pleading 4/19/2010
164. Spring In War-Time 4/19/2010
165. Spring Song 4/19/2010
166. Spring Song Ii 4/19/2010
167. Spring Song Iii 4/19/2010
168. St. Valentine's Day 12/31/2002
169. Summer Song 4/19/2010
170. Surrender 4/19/2010
171. Surrender Ii 4/19/2010
172. Teint Neutre 4/19/2010
173. Tekel 4/19/2010
174. The Adventurer 4/19/2010
175. The Appeal 4/19/2010
176. The Ballad Of The White Lady 4/19/2010
177. The Beatific Vision 4/19/2010
178. The Beech Tree 4/19/2010
179. The Better Part 4/19/2010
180. The Champion 4/19/2010
181. The Charm 4/19/2010
182. The Choice 4/19/2010
183. The Claim 4/19/2010
184. The Confession 4/19/2010
185. The Crown Of Life 4/19/2010
186. The Daisies 4/19/2010
187. The Day Of Judgment 4/19/2010
188. The Dead To The Living 4/19/2010
189. The Death Of Agnes 4/19/2010
190. The December Rose 4/19/2010
191. The Depths Of The Sea 4/19/2010
192. The Despot 12/31/2002
193. The Destroyer 4/19/2010
194. The Destroyer 4/19/2010
195. The Egoists 4/19/2010
196. The Enchanted Garden 4/19/2010
197. The End 4/19/2010
198. The Eternal 4/19/2010
199. The Ferry 4/19/2010
200. The Fields Of Flanders 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

St. Valentine's Day

The South is a dream of flowers
With a jewel for sky and sea,
Rose-crowns for the dancing hours,
Gold fruits upon every tree;
But cold from the North The wind blows forth
That blows my love to me.
The stars in the South are gold
Like lamps between sky and sea;
The flowers that the forests hold.

[Hata Bildir]