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Edith Nesbit

Kennington / Surrey / England
Edith Nesbit
Kennington / Surrey / England
Friday, January 3, 2003

The Kiss

Rating: 2.9
The snow is white on wood and wold,
The wind is in the firs,
So dead my heart is with the cold,
No pulse within it stirs,
Even to see your face, my dear,
Your face that was my sun;
There is no spring this bitter year,
And summer's dreams are done.

The snakes that lie about my heart
Are in their wintry sleep;
Their fangs no more deal sting and smart,
No more they curl and creep.
Love with the summer ceased to be;
The frost is firm and fast.
God keep the summer far from me,
And let the snakes' sleep last!

Touch of your hand could not suffice
To waken them once more;
Nor could the sunshine of your eyes
A ruined spring restore.
But ah-your lips! You know the rest:
The snows are summer rain,
My eyes are wet, and in my breast
The snakes' fangs meet again.
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COMMENTS
Sylvaonyema Uba 21 April 2018
Written in an Octave of three equal stanzas. With a rhyme scheme of ab ab CD CD in the first stanza. SylvaOnyema Uba
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