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Poem by Edith Nesbit
This Desirable Mansion
THE long white windows blankly stare Across the sodden, tangled grass, Weed-covered are the pathways where No footsteps ever pass; No whispers wake, no kisses die, No laughter thrills the dwindling flowers, Only the night hears sigh on sigh From ghosts of long-dead hours. None come here now to laugh or weep; The spider spins on stair and hall, And round the windows shadows creep, And loathly creatures crawl. Cold is the hearth; the door is fast; No guest the silent threshold sees Save ghosts out of the happy past,-- And one who is as these.
Edith Nesbit's other poems:
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