Edith Nesbit

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

Edith Nesbit Poems

161. The Beech Tree 4/19/2010
162. The Claim 4/19/2010
163. The Heart Of Joy 4/19/2010
164. The Invitation 4/19/2010
165. The Last Ditch 4/19/2010
166. The Last Envoy 4/19/2010
167. The Least Possible 4/19/2010
168. The Lost Embassy 4/19/2010
169. The Lower Room 4/19/2010
170. The Magic Flower 4/19/2010
171. The Past 4/19/2010
172. The Pedlar 4/19/2010
173. The Point Of View: I 4/19/2010
174. August 4/19/2010
175. Autumn Song 4/19/2010
176. As It Is 4/19/2010
177. Betrayed 4/19/2010
178. Evening Song 4/19/2010
179. At Parting 4/19/2010
180. At Parting Ii 4/19/2010
181. At The Feast 4/19/2010
182. From The Italian 4/19/2010
183. In The Shallows 4/19/2010
184. Maidenhood 4/19/2010
185. Medway Song 4/19/2010
186. Vies Manquees 4/19/2010
187. Margaret 4/19/2010
188. From The Portuguese 4/19/2010
189. In Memoryt Of Saretta Deakin 4/19/2010
190. At The Gate 4/19/2010
191. The Onlooker 4/19/2010
192. The Old Dispensation 4/19/2010
193. The Magic Ring 4/19/2010
194. The Husband Of To-Day 4/19/2010
195. The Gift Of The Gods 4/19/2010
196. The Charm 4/19/2010
197. The Ferry 4/19/2010
198. Saturday Song 4/19/2010
199. At The Last 4/19/2010
200. Baby's Birthday 4/19/2010

Comments about Edith Nesbit

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

    I like poem and story

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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

St. Valentine's Day

The South is a dream of flowers
With a jewel for sky and sea,
Rose-crowns for the dancing hours,
Gold fruits upon every tree;
But cold from the North The wind blows forth
That blows my love to me.
The stars in the South are gold
Like lamps between sky and sea;
The flowers that the forests hold.

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