2 min read
Слушать(AI)St Valentines Day
The South is a dream of flowers With a jewel for sky and sea,
Rose-crowns for the dancing hours, Gold fruits upon every tree;
But cold from the North The wind blows forth That blows my love to me.
The stars in the South are gold Like lamps between sky and sea;
The flowers that the forests hold. Like stars between tree and tree;
But little and white Is the pale moon's light That lights my love to me.
In the South the orange grove Makes dusk by the dusky sea,
White palaces wrought for love Gleam white between tree and tree,
But under bare boughs Is the little house Warm-lit for my love and me.
Edith Nesbit
Edith Nesbit (married name Edith Bland; 15 August 1858 – 4 May 1924) was an English author and poet; she published her books for children under
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
The Island
Does the wind sing in your ears at night, in the town, Rattling the windows and doors of the cheap-built place Do you hear its song as it flies over marsh and down Do you feel the kiss that the wind leaves here on my face Or, wrapt ...
From The Portuguese
When I lived in the village of There were lilies in all the orchards, Flowers in the For brides to wear in their hair
Questions
What do the roses do, mother, Now that the summer's done They lie in the bed that is hung with And dream about the sun
England
Shoulders of upland brown laid dark to the sunset's bosom, Living amber of wheat, and copper of new-ploughed loam, Downs where the white sheep wander, little gardens in blossom, Roads that wind through the twilight up to the lights of home<br...
