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Edith Nesbit (Эдит Несбит)


Sea-Shells


I gathered shells upon the sand,
Each shell a little perfect thing,
So frail, yet potent to withstand
The mountain-waves' wild buffeting.
Through storms no ship could dare to brave
The little shells float lightly, save
All that they might have lost of fine
Shape and soft colour crystalline.

Yet I amid the world's wild surge
Doubt if my soul can face the strife,
The waves of circumstance that urge
That slight ship on the rocks of life.
O soul, be brave, for He who saves
The frail shell in the giant waves,
Will bring thy puny bark to land
Safe in the hollow of His hand.



Edith Nesbit's other poems:
  1. The Stolen God
  2. Saturday Song
  3. Philosophy
  4. For Dolly Who Does Not Learn Her Lessons
  5. The Garden Refused


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