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Poem by Edith Nesbit


   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:
  1. Saturday Song
  2. The Whirligig of Time
  3. For Dolly Who Does Not Learn Her Lessons
  4. The December Rose
  5. The Fire

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • William Shakespeare Winter ("When icicles hang by the wall")
  • Dante Rossetti Winter ("How large that thrush looks on the bare thorn-tree!")
  • Robert Southey Winter ("A wrinkled crabbed man they picture thee")
  • Samuel Johnson Winter ("No more the morn with tepid rays")
  • Robert Burns Winter ("THE wintry wast extends his blast")
  • William Morris Winter ("I am Winter, that do keep")
  • Charles Mackay Winter ("When the tempests fly")
  • George Russell Winter ("A DIAMOND glow of winter oer the world")
  • Janet Hamilton Winter ("Loud blaw the wild an' wintry win's")
  • Anne Hunter Winter ("Behold the gloomy tyrants awful form")
  • John Lapraik Winter ("STERN Winter comes, with threatning frown")
  • Henry Alford Winter ("Had I the wondrous magic to invest")

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