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Poem by Edith Nesbit
Winter
HOLD your hands to the blaze;
Winter is here
With the short cold days,
Bleak, keen and drear.
Was there ever a day
With hawthorn along the way
Where you wandered in mild mid-May
With your dear?
That was when you were young
And the world was gold;
Now all the songs are sung,
The tales all told.
You shiver now by the fire
Where the last red sparks expire;
Dead are delight and desire:
You are old.
Edith Nesbit
Edith Nesbit's other poems:- The Prodigal’s Return
- The Death of Agnes
- These Little Ones
- The Last Defeat
- At the Last
Poems of the other poets with the same name:
Robert Southey Winter ("A wrinkled crabbed man they picture thee") Samuel Johnson Winter ("No more the morn with tepid rays") Dante Rossetti Winter ("How large that thrush looks on the bare thorn-tree!") William Morris Winter ("I am Winter, that do keep") William Shakespeare Winter ("When icicles hang by the wall") Charles Mackay Winter ("When the tempests fly") George Russell Winter ("A DIAMOND glow of winter o’er the world") Robert Burns Winter ("THE wintry wast extends his blast") Janet Hamilton Winter ("Loud blaw the wild an' wintry win's") Anne Hunter Winter ("Behold the gloomy tyrant’s awful form") John Lapraik Winter ("STERN Winter comes, with threat’ning frown") Henry Alford Winter ("Had I the wondrous magic to invest") Archibald Lampman Winter ("The long days came and went; the riotous bees")
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