Edith Nesbit

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

Edith Nesbit Poems

1. The Prodigal's Return 4/19/2010
2. The Refusal 4/19/2010
3. The Sphinx 4/19/2010
4. The Star 4/19/2010
5. The Temptation 4/19/2010
6. The Touchstone 4/19/2010
7. The Treasure 4/19/2010
8. The Vain Spell 4/19/2010
9. The Vault--After Sedgmoor 4/19/2010
10. The Veil Of Maya 4/19/2010
11. The Way Of Love 4/19/2010
12. The Whirligig Of Time 4/19/2010
13. The Will To Live 4/19/2010
14. This Desirable Mansion 4/19/2010
15. Through The Wood 4/19/2010
16. To A Child 4/19/2010
17. To Her: In Time Of War 4/19/2010
18. To His Lady, 4/19/2010
19. To Hubert 4/19/2010
20. To Vera, Who Asked A Song 4/19/2010
21. Too Late 4/19/2010
22. Town And Country 4/19/2010
23. Trafalgar Day 4/19/2010
24. True Love And New Love 4/19/2010
25. Two Christmas Eves 4/19/2010
26. Two Voices 4/19/2010
27. To One Who Bade Him Work 4/19/2010
28. To One Who Pleaded For Candour In Love 4/19/2010
29. To Rosamund 4/19/2010
30. Until The Dawn 4/19/2010
31. Unofficial 4/19/2010
32. To Iris 4/19/2010
33. To His Lady 4/19/2010
34. To A Tulip-Bulb 4/19/2010
35. These Little Ones 4/19/2010
36. The Stolen God--Lazarus To Dives 4/19/2010
37. The Spider Queen 4/19/2010
38. The Skylark 4/19/2010
39. The Return 4/19/2010
40. The Three Kings 4/19/2010

Comments about Edith Nesbit

  • Swarali (1/24/2020 8:11:00 AM)

    I want a Poem written by EDITH NESBIT

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  • Someshwar (1/16/2020 7:45:00 AM)

    Tell me poems of edit nesbit

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  • Mr.xdhhshshshsh d (2/20/2019 8:35:00 AM)

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  • Sumit sayam (2/27/2018 8:00:00 AM)

    Hagri poem

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  • Rohit Parande (2/21/2018 7:49:00 AM)

    I like poem and story

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    1 person did not like.
Best Poem of Edith Nesbit

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.

At night his window casts a square
Of light upon the lawn;
I sometimes walk and watch it there
Until the chill of dawn.

I have no brain to understand
The books he loves to read;
I only have a heart and hand
He does not seem to need.

He calls me "Child" - lays on my hair
Thin fingers, cold ...

Read the full of A Tragedy

The Despot

1 The garden mould was damp and chill,
2 Winter had had his brutal will
3 Since over all the year's content
4 His devastating legions went.

5 Then Spring's bright banners came: there woke
6 Millions of little growing folk
7 Who thrilled to know the winter done,
8 Gave thanks, and strove towards the sun.

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