Edith Nesbit

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

Edith Nesbit Poems

281. The Last Defeat 4/19/2010
282. The Nest 4/19/2010
283. A Farewell 4/19/2010
284. After Sixty Years 4/19/2010
285. In The Rose Garden 4/19/2010
286. Lullaby 4/19/2010
287. The Gray Folk 4/19/2010
288. Spring Song Iii 4/19/2010
289. A Star In The East 4/19/2010
290. Sea-Shells 4/19/2010
291. Song 4/19/2010
292. A Dirge 4/19/2010
293. The Despot 12/31/2002
294. A Last Appeal 4/19/2010
295. After Death 4/19/2010
296. At The Sound Of The Drum 4/19/2010
297. A Kentish Garden 4/19/2010
298. The Island 12/31/2002
299. The Maiden's Prayer 4/19/2010
300. A Garden Of Girls 4/19/2010
301. St. Valentine's Day 12/31/2002
302. A Good-Bye 4/19/2010
303. In Trouble 12/31/2002
304. The Kiss 1/3/2003
305. Villeggiature 1/3/2003
306. Child's Song In Spring 8/18/2006
307. A Tragedy 12/31/2002
308. Age To Youth 4/19/2010
309. The Choice 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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