Edith Nesbit (15 August 1858 – 4 May 1924 / Kennington / Surrey / England)
The December Rose
Here's a rose that blows for Chloe,
Fair as ever a rose in June was,
Now the garden's silent, snowy,
Where the burning summer noon was.
In your garden's summer glory
One poor corner, shelved and shady,
Told no rosy, radiant story,
Grew no rose to grace its lady.
What shuts sun out shuts out snow too;
From his nook your secret lover
Shows what slighted roses grow to
When the rose you chose is over.
Comments about this poem (The December Rose by Edith Nesbit )
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