Edith Nesbit: Всі вірші поета

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Shoulders of upland brown laid dark to the sunset's bosom,

Living amber of wheat, and copper of new-ploughed loam,

Downs where the white sheep wander, little gardens in blossom,

Roads that wind through the twilight up to the lights of home.

Lanes that are white with hawthorn, dykes where the sedges shiver,

Hollows where caged winds slumber, moorlands where winds wake free,

Sowing and reaping and gleaning, spring and torrent and river,

Are they not more, by worlds, than the whole of the world can be?

Now the sprinkled blackthorn snow

Lies along the lover’s lane

Where last year we used to go-

Where we shall not go again.

In the hedge the buds are new,

By our wood the violets peer-

Just like last year’s violets too,

But they have no scent this year.