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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


Edith Nesbit's other poems:
  1. This Desirable Mansion
  2. The Monk
  3. Second Nature
  4. Out of Hope
  5. The Choice


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