Retro Santhanas
'REFUSE, refrain: for this is not the love
The Annunciation Angel warned you of;
This is the little candle, not the sun;
It burns, but will not warm, unhappy one!'
'But ah! suppose the sun should never shine,
Then what an anguish of regret were mine
To know that even from this I turned away!
Candles may serve, if there should be no day.'
'Nay, better to go cold your whole life long
Than do the sun, than do your soul such wrong:
And if the sun shine not, be life's the blame
And yours the pride, who scorned the meaner flame.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Autumn Song
'WILL you not walk the woods with me?
The shafts of sunlight burn
On many a golden-crested tree
And many a russet fern.
The Summer's robe is dyed anew,
And Autumn's veil of mist
Is gemmed with little pearls of dew
Where first we met and kissed.'
'I will not walk the woodlands brown
Where ghosts and mists are blown,
But I will walk the lonely down
And I will walk alone.
Where Night spreads out her mighty wing
And dead days keep their tryst,
There will I weep the woods of Spring
Where first we met and kissed.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Onlooker
If I could make a pillow for your head,
Soft, pleasant, filled with every pretty thought;
If I could lay a carpet where you tread
Of all my life's most radiant fancies wrought,
And spread my love as canopy above you,
Your sleep, your steps should know how much I love you.
But--as life goes, to the old sorry tune--
I stand apart, I see thorns wound your feet,
Your sleeping eyes resenting sun and moon,
Your head lie restless on a breast unmeet--
And say no word, and suffer without moan,
Lest you should guess how much you are alone.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Microcosm
SHE and I--we kissed and vowed
That should be which could not be;
Just as if mere vows endowed
Love with immortality!
Ah, had vows but kept us true,
As we thought them sure to do!
She and I--such tiny parts
Of the Evolution-plan--
Yet can hold within our hearts
All the misery of man:
All the ages did prepare,
All we are and all we bear.
She and I--mere counters, toys
Nature uses for her game--
Pity that we long for joys,
And feel sorrows all the same!
Just as though our wills were free,
[...] Read more
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Invocation II
COME to-night in a dream to-night,
Come as you used to do,
Come in the gown, in the gown of white,
Come in the ribbon of blue;
Come in the virgin's colours you wear,
Come through the dark and the dew,
Come with the scent of the night in your hair,
Come as you used to do.
Blue and white of your eyes and your face,
White of your gown and blue,
Will you not come from the happy place,
Come as you used to do?
Tears so many, so many tears
Where there were once so few--
Can they not wash the gray of the years
From the white of your gown and blue?
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Raison D'Etre
O WEARY night, O weary day,
When heart's delight is far away!
What is the day? A frame of blue
The vacant-glaring sun grins through.
What is the night? A sable veil
Through which the moon peers tired and pale.
O weary day! O weary night!
How far away is heart's delight!
Love hung the sun in his high place
To give me light to see her face,
And love spread out the veil of night
To hide us two from all men's sight.
O kindly night, O pleasant day,
Your use is gone--why should ye stay?
My heart's delight is far away,
O weary night, O weary day.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Renunciation
ROSE of the desert of my heart,
Moon of the night that is my soul,
Thou can'st not know how sweet thou art,
Nor what wild tides thy beams control.
For all thy heart a garden is,
Thy soul is like a dawn of May.
And garden and dawn might both be his,
Who from them both must turn away.
Oh, garden of the Spring's delight!
Oh, dewy dawn of perfect noon!
I will not pluck thy roses white
Or warm thy May-time into June.
I can but bless thee, moon and rose,
And journey far and very far
To where the night no moonbeam shows,
To where no happy roses are!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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To Hubert
Dear Hubert, if I ever found
A wishing-carpet lying round,
I'd stand upon it, and I'd say:
'Take me to Hubert, right away!'
And then we'd travel very far
To where the magic countries are
That you and I will never see,
And choose the loveliest gifts for you, from me.
But oh! alack! and well-a-day!
No wishing-carpets come my way.
I never found a Phoenix yet,
And Psammeads are so hard to get!
So I give you nothing fine-
Only this book, your book and mine,
And hers, whose name by yours is set;
Your book, my book, the book of Margaret!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Morning
DAWN in the east, and chill dew falling--
Tears of the new-born day;
Dew on the lawn, and blackbirds calling,
Music and mild mid-May.
The lilac, see, wins back the colour
Lost on the field of Night
See, the spent stars grow dimmer, duller!
Look forth, my life's delight!
Open your window, lean above me,
Rose, my white rose, my song!
Leave your white nest, love, if you love me--
Night is so lonely-long.
Day is our own, and day's a-breaking;
Sweet sleepy eyes of grey,
You shall not chide an early waking
When Night grows kind as Day!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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A Portrait
LIKE the sway of the silver birch in the breeze of dawn
Is her dainty way;
Like the gray of a twilight sky or a starlit lawn
Are her eyes of gray;
Like the clouds in their moving white
Is her breast's soft stir;
And white as the moon and bright
Is the soul of her.
Like murmur of woods in spring ere the leaves be green,
Like the voice of a bird
That sings by a stream that sings through the night unseen,
So her voice is heard.
And the secret her eyes withhold
In my soul abides,
For white as the moon and cold
Is the heart she hides.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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