Poem by Edith Nesbit

The Death of Agnes

   NOW that the sunlight dies in my eyes,
      And the moonlight grows in my hair,
   I who was never very wise,
      Never was very fair,
   Virgin and martyr all my life,
      What has life left to give
   Me—who was never mother nor wife,
      Never got leave to live?

   Nothing of life could I clasp or claim,
      Nothing could steal or save.
   So when you come to carve my name,
      Give me life in my grave.
   To keep me warm when I sleep alone
      A lie is little to give;
   Call me “Magdalen” on my stone,
      Though I died and did not live.

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

Print

1148 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version