Ghosts

YES--kiss my forehead where the pain
Is grinding outwards from my brain!
But will not pity teach you, too,
To kiss these lips no fire burns through--
These cheeks, made colourless and thin
By years you had no portion in--
These weary eyes that wake and ache
Not for your sake--not for your sake:
Kiss, child, and let your kisses see
If they can find the heart in me!
There is a heart--or used to be!

I think the pain is growing less
Under your passionless caress--
Ah! could you teach my lips to crave
But just such kisses as you gave,
And could you, treading my life's ways,
But lay these ghosts of dear dead days
That walk my world by day and night,

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poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Poor Man's Guest

ONE came to me in royal guise
With banners flying fair and free
But many griefs had made me wise
And I refused to bow the knee.

Then one drew near who bore the flower
Of all the flowers of June and May;
But many griefs had lent me power
And I was strong to turn away.

Then came a beggar to my gate
With shoulders bowed to sorrow's pack,
So weary and so desolate
I had no heart to turn him back.

I let him share my board, my bed,
I warmed him in my shrinking breast,
I gave him all I had, and said:
'You, only you, have been my guest.

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poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Past

MAKE strong your door with bolt and bar,
Make every window fast;
Strong brass and iron as they are,
They are so easy passed--
So easy broken and cast aside,
And by the open door
My footsteps come to your guarded home,
And pass away no more.

In the golden noon--by the lovers' moon,
My shadow bars your way,
My shroud shows white in the blackest night
And grey in the gladdest day.
And by your board and by your bed
There is a place for me,
And in the glow when the coals burn low,
My face is the face ye see

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poem by Edith Nesbit
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May Day

Will you go a-maying, a-maying, a-maying,
Come and be my Queen of May and pluck the may with me?
The fields are full of daisy buds and new lambs playing,
The bird is on the nest, dear, the blossom's on the tree.'

'If I go with you, if I go a-maying,
To be your Queen and wear my crown this May-day bright,
Hand in hand straying, it must be only playing,
And playtime ends at sunset, and then good-night.

'For I have heard of maidens who laughed and went a-maying,
Went out queens and lost their crowns and came back slaves.
I will be no young man's slave, submitting and obeying,
Bearing chains as those did, even to their graves.'

'If you come a-maying, a-straying, a-playing,
We will pluck the little flowers, enough for you and me;
And when the day dies, end our one day's playing,
Give a kiss and take a kiss and go home free.'

poem by Edith Nesbit
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In The Shallows

AMONG the shallows where the sand
Is golden and the waves are small,
I love to lie, and to my hand
How many little treasures fall!
What shells and seaweed grace the shore,
What happy birds on happy wings,
And for companions, what a store
Of humble, happy, living things!

Yet the sea's depths are also mine,
And in the old days I used to dive
Into the caves, where corals shine
And where the shimmering mer-folk live.
I am the master of the sea
In deeps where fairy flowers uncurl;
That treasure-house belongs to me,
Those amber halls, those stairs of pearl.

But now thereto I go no more,
Because of all the argosies,

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poem by Edith Nesbit
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Summer Song

THERE are white moon daisies in the mist of the meadow
Where the flowered grass scatters its seeds like spray,
There are purple orchis by the wood-ways' shadow,
There are pale dog-roses by the white highway;
And the grass, the grass is tall, the grass is up for hay,
With daisies white like silver and buttercups like gold,
And it's oh! for once to play thro' the long, the lovely day,
To laugh before the year grows old!

There is silver moonlight on the breast of the river
Where the willows tremble to the kiss of night,
Where the nine tall aspens in the meadow shiver,
Shiver in the night wind that turns them white.
And the lamps, the lamps are lit, the lamps are glow-worms light,
Between the silver aspens and the west's last gold.
And it's oh! to drink delight in the lovely lonely night,
To be young before the heart grows old!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Fields Of Flanders

Last year the fields were all glad and gay
With silver daisies and silver may;
There were kingcups gold by the river's edge
And primrose stars under every hedge.

This year the fields are trampled and brown,
The hedges are broken and beaten down,
And where the primroses used to grow
Are little black crosses set in a row.

And the flower of hopes, and the flowers of dreams,
The noble, fruitful, beautiful schemes,
The tree of life with its fruit and bud,
Are trampled down in the mud and the blood.

The changing seasons will bring again
The magic of Spring to our wood and plain;
Though the Spring be so green as never was seen
The crosses will still be black in the green.

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poem by Edith Nesbit
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Faith II

THROUGH the long night, the deathlong night,
Along the dark and haunted way,
I knew your hidden face was bright--
More bright than any day.

And when the faint, insistent moan
Rose from some weed-grown wayside grave,
I said, 'I do not walk alone;
'Tis easy to be brave.

I never turned to speak with you,
For all the way was dark and long,
But all the shadows' menace through
Your silence was my song.

I never sought to take your hand,
For all the way was long and rough;

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poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Golden Rose

A POOR lost princess, weary and worn,
Came over the down by the wind-washed moor,
And the king looked out on her grace forlorn,
And he took her in at his palace door.

He made her queen, he gave her a crown,
Bidding her rest and be glad and gay
In his golden town, with a golden gown,
And a new gold lily every day.

But the crown is heavy, the gold gown gray,
And the queen's pale breast is like autumn snows;
For he brings a gold lily every day,
But no king gathers the golden rose.

One came at last to the palace keep
By worlds of water and leagues of land,

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poem by Edith Nesbit
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In Eclipse

PALE veil of mist bound round the trees
Pale fringe of rain upon the hills,
Cold earth, cold sky and biting breeze
That mock the withered daffodils.
And yet so short a while ago,
The sunlight on the quickened land
Laughed at the memory of the snow,
And we went hand in hand.

Pale veil of doubt wound round my heart,
Pale fringe of tears upon your eyes;
Why did we choose the evil part?
Why did we leave our Paradise?
There were such green and pleasant ways
Where you and I with happy heart
Laughed at the old unhappy days,
And now--we are apart.

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poem by Edith Nesbit
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