Edith Nesbit

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

Edith Nesbit Poems

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

[Report Error]