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Edith Nesbit (Эдит Несбит)


To Vera, Who Asked a Song


IF I only had time!
I could make you a rhyme.
But my time is kept flying
By smiling and sighing
And living and dying for you.
The song-seed, I sow it,
I water and hoe it,
But never can grow it.
Ah, traitress, you know it!
What is a poor poet to do?

Ah, let me take breath!
I am harried to death
By the loves and the graces
That crowd where your face is
That lurk in your laces and throng.
Call them off for a minute,
Once let me begin it
The devil is in it
If I can not spin it
As sweet as a linnet, your song!



Edith Nesbit's other poems:
  1. The Prodigal’s Return
  2. The Death of Agnes
  3. These Little Ones
  4. The Last Defeat
  5. At the Last


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