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

Child's Song In Spring


The Silver Birch is a dainty lady,
She wears a satin gown;
The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady,
She will not live in town.

The English oak is a sturdy fellow,
He gets his green coat late;
The willow is smart in a suit of yellow
While brown the beech trees wait.

Such a gay green gown God gives the larches-
As green as he is good!
The hazels hold up their arms for arches,
When spring rides through the wood.

The chestnut’s proud, and the lilac’s pretty,
The poplar’s gentle and tall,
But the plane tree’s kind to the poor ...

Read the full of Child's Song In Spring

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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