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 Vain Spell 4/19/2010
7. The Vault--After Sedgmoor 4/19/2010
8. The Veil Of Maya 4/19/2010
9. The Way Of Love 4/19/2010
10. The Touchstone 4/19/2010
11. The Treasure 4/19/2010
12. The Whirligig Of Time 4/19/2010
13. This Desirable Mansion 4/19/2010
14. Through The Wood 4/19/2010
15. To A Child 4/19/2010
16. The Will To Live 4/19/2010
17. To Her: In Time Of War 4/19/2010
18. To Vera, Who Asked A Song 4/19/2010
19. Too Late 4/19/2010
20. Town And Country 4/19/2010
21. Trafalgar Day 4/19/2010
22. True Love And New Love 4/19/2010
23. Two Christmas Eves 4/19/2010
24. Two Voices 4/19/2010
25. To One Who Bade Him Work 4/19/2010
26. To One Who Pleaded For Candour In Love 4/19/2010
27. To Rosamund 4/19/2010
28. To His Lady, 4/19/2010
29. To Hubert 4/19/2010
30. Until The Dawn 4/19/2010
31. To Iris 4/19/2010
32. Unofficial 4/19/2010
33. To His Lady 4/19/2010
34. These Little Ones 4/19/2010
35. To A Tulip-Bulb 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
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

The Island

Does the wind sing in your ears at night, in the town,
Rattling the windows and doors of the cheap-built place?
Do you hear its song as it flies over marsh and down?
Do you feel the kiss that the wind leaves here on my face?
Or, wrapt in a lamplit quiet, do you restrain
Thoughts that would take the wind's way hither to me,
And bid them rest safe-anchored, nor tempt again
The tumult, and torment, and passion that live in the sea?

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