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Poem by Edith Nesbit
In the Rose Garden
RED roses bright, pink roses and white That bud and blossom and fall; The very sight of my heart's delight Is more than worth them all! Is worth far more than the whole sweet store That ever a garden grew-- She plucked the best to die at her breast, But it laughed and it bloomed anew! The red rose lay at her lips to-day, And flushed with the joy thereof; She said a word that the white rose heard, And the white rose paled with love. But the west wind blows, and my lady goes, And she leaves the world forlorn; And every rose that the garden grows, Might just as well be a thorn!
Edith Nesbit's other poems:
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