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A Star In The East

FOR THE ART EXHIBITION AT ST. JUDE'S, WHITECHAPEL

LIKE a fair flower springing fresh, sweet, and bright,

Through prison stones; or like one perfect song

Heard in a dream on one remembered night,

When waking worlds were dumb with grief and wrong;

Like the one kiss that links--first kiss and last--

The inevitable future spent apart

With the immutable divided past:

Edith Nesbit

And The Rains Descended And The Floods Came

NOW the far waves roll nearer and more near,

The wind's awake, the pitiless wind's awake,

It shrieks the menace that I dare not hear,

Soon at my feet the angry waves will break

In desolating wrath--and here I stand

Helpless my house is built upon the sand.

O you, whose house upon a rock is set,

Laugh, safe and sure, at threatening wave and wind.

Edith Nesbit

A Good-Bye

FAREWELL! How soon unmeasured distance rolls

Its leaden clouds between our parted souls!

How little to each other now are we--

And once how much I dreamed we two might be!

I, who now stand with eyes undimmed and dry

To say good-bye--

To say good-bye to all sweet memories,

Good-bye to tender questions, soft replies;

Edith Nesbit

A Parting II

I WILL not wake you, dear; no tears shall creep

To chill the still bed where you lie asleep;

No cry, no word, shall break the sanctity

Of the great silence where God lets you lie.

I will not tease your grave with flower or stone;

You are tired, my heart; you shall be left alone.

And even the kisses that my lips must lay

Upon the mould of the triumphant clay

Edith Nesbit

A Dirge

LET Summer go

To other gardens; here we have no need of her.

She smiles and beckons, but we take no heed of her,

Who love not Summer, but bare boughs and snow,

Set the snow free

To choke the insolent triumph of the year,

With birds that sing as though he still were here,

And flowers that blow as if he still could see.

Edith Nesbit

Accession

ONCE I loved, and my heart bowed down,

Subject and slave, for Love was a King;

He sat above with sceptre and crown,

Turning his eyes from my sorrowing.

The laugh of a god on his lips lay light--

His lips victorious that mocked my pain,

And I mourned in the cold and the outer night,

And my tears and my prayers were vain.

Edith Nesbit

A Brown Study

LET them sing of their primrose and cowslip,

Their daffodil-gold-coloured hair,

Their bluebells, blue eyes, and white violets,

All the pale dreamy things they find fair;

Give me stir of brown leaves in the sunshine,

The whir of brown wings through the wheat,

The rush of brown hares through the clover,

And the light in brown eyes of my sweet!

Edith Nesbit

A Choice

THE flood of utter change is loosed. A space

Is ours yet, for its coming to prepare.

Shall we build dams with cautious, clumsy care,

Or stand with idle hands and frightened face,

And so be whirled all broken from our place,

And perish with the dams we builded there?

Or shall we dig a broad, deep channel, where

Most fields may feel the flood's benign embrace?

Edith Nesbit

A Parting

So good-bye!

This is where we end it, you and I.

Life's to live, you know, and death's to die;

So good-bye!

I was yours

For the love in life that loves while life endures,

For the earth-path that the Heaven-flight ensures

I was yours.

Edith Nesbit

After Death

IF we must part, this parting is the best:

How would you bear to lay

Your head on some warm pillow far away--

Your head, so used to lying on my breast?

But now your pillow is cold;

Your hands have flowers, and not my hands, to hold;

Upon our bed the worn bride-linen lies.

I have put the death-money upon your eyes,

Edith Nesbit

At Evening Time There Shall Be Light

THE day was wild with wind and rain,

One grey wrapped sky and sea and shore,

It seemed our marsh would never again

Wear the rich robes that once it wore.

The scattered farms looked sad and chill,

Their sheltering trees writhed all awry,

And waves of mist broke on the hill

Where once the great sea thundered by.

Edith Nesbit

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.

Edith Nesbit