Poem by Edith Nesbit

The Point of View: I

                                     I

   THERE was never winter, summer only: roses,
      Pink and white and red,
   Shining down the warm rich garden closes;
         Quiet trees and lawns of dappled shadow,
   Silver lilies, whisper of mignonette,
      Cloth-of-gold of buttercups outspread;
   Good gold sun that kissed me when we met,
         Shadows of floating clouds on sunny meadow.
   In the hay-field, scented, grey,
   Loving life and love, I lay;
   By fresh airs blown, drifted into sleep;
   Slept and dreamed there.  Winter was the dream.

                                     II

   Summer never was, was always winter only;
      Cold and ice and frost
   Only, driven by the ice-wind, lonely,
         In a world of strangers, in the welter
   Of the puddles and the spiteful wind and sleet,
      Blinded by the spitting hailstones, lost
   In a bitter unfamiliar street,
         I found a doorway, crouched there for just shelter,
   Crouched and fought in vain for breath,
   Cursed the cold and wished for death;
   Crouched there, gathered somehow warmth to sleep;
   Slept and dreamed there.  Summer was the dream.

1. The Stolen God
2. Philosophy
3. The Vault
4. Saturday Song
5. The Daisies

Print

1156 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version