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Best Famous Edith Nesbit Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Edith Nesbit poems. This is a select list of the best famous Edith Nesbit poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Edith Nesbit poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Edith Nesbit poems.

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by Edith Nesbit | |

The Kiss

 My mouth blooms like a cut.
I've been wronged all year, tedious nights, nothing but rough elbows in them and delicate boxes of Kleenex calling crybaby crybaby , you fool! Before today my body was useless.
Now it's tearing at its square corners.
It's tearing old Mary's garments off, knot by knot and see -- Now it's shot full of these electric bolts.
Zing! A resurrection! Once it was a boat, quite wooden and with no business, no salt water under it and in need of some paint.
It was no more than a group of boards.
But you hoisted her, rigged her.
She's been elected.
My nerves are turned on.
I hear them like musical instruments.
Where there was silence the drums, the strings are incurably playing.
You did this.
Pure genius at work.
Darling, the composer has stepped into fire.


by Edith Nesbit | |

St. Valentines Day

 The South is a dream of flowers 
With a jewel for sky and sea, 
Rose-crowns for the dancing hours, 
Gold fruits upon every tree; 
But cold from the North The wind blows forth 
That blows my love to me.
The stars in the South are gold Like lamps between sky and sea; The flowers that the forests hold.
Like stars between tree and tree; But little and white Is the pale moon's light That lights my love to me.
In the South the orange grove Makes dusk by the dusky sea, White palaces wrought for love Gleam white between tree and tree, But under bare boughs Is the little house Warm-lit for my love and me.


by Edith Nesbit | |

The Kiss

 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.


by Edith Nesbit | |

Villeggiature

 My window, framed in pear-tree bloom,
White-curtained shone, and softly lighted:
So, by the pear-tree, to my room
Your ghost last night climbed uninvited.
Your solid self, long leagues away, Deep in dull books, had hardly missed me; And yet you found this Romeo's way, And through the blossom climbed and kissed me.
I watched the still and dewy lawn, The pear-tree boughs hung white above you; I listened to you till the dawn, And half forgot I did not love you.
Od, dear! what pretty things you said, What pearls of song you threaded for me! I did not-till your ghost had fled- Remember how you always bore me!


by Edith Nesbit | |

A Tragedy

 Among his books he sits all day
To think and read and write;
He does not smell the new-mown hay,
The roses red and white.
I walk among them all alone, His silly, stupid wife; The world seems tasteless, dead and done - An empty thing is life.
At night his window casts a square Of light upon the lawn; I sometimes walk and watch it there Until the chill of dawn.
I have no brain to understand The books he loves to read; I only have a heart and hand He does not seem to need.
He calls me "Child" - lays on my hair Thin fingers, cold and mild; Oh! God of Love, who answers prayer, I wish I were a child! And no one sees and no one knows (He least would know or see), That ere Love gathers next year's rose Death will have gathered me.


by Edith Nesbit | |

Appeal

 Daphnis dearest, wherefore weave me
Webs of lies lest truth should grieve me?
I could pardon much, believe me:
Dower me, Daphnis, or bereave me,
Kiss me, kill me, love me, leave me,-
Damn me, dear, but don't deceive me!