Now the sprinkled blackthorn snow
Lies along the lover’s lane
Where last year we used to go-
Where we shall not go again.
In the hedge the buds are new,
By our wood the violets peer-
Just like last year’s violets too,
But they have no scent this year.
Every bird has heart to sing
Of its nest, warmed by its breast;
We had heart to sing last spring,
But we never built our nest.
Presently red roses blown
Will make all the garden gay..
Not yet have the daisies grown
On your clay.
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 the name of E. Nesbit. She wrote or collaborated on more than 60 books of children's literature. She was also a pol…
View profile & all 35 Poems / StoriesShoulders of upland brown laid dark to the sunset's bosom,Living amber of wheat, and copper of new-ploughed loam,
Last year the fields were all glad and gayWith silver daisies and silver may;
The snow is white on wood and wold,The wind is in the firs,
Among his books he sits all dayTo think and read and write;
The garden mould was damp and chill,Winter had had his brutal will
