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Home  »  Women Poets of the Nineteenth Century  »  Edith (Nesbit) Bland (1858–1924)

Alfred H. Miles, ed. Women Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.

By Miscellaneous Poems. IV. The Ghost

Edith (Nesbit) Bland (1858–1924)

THE YEAR fades, as the west wind sighs,

And droops in many-coloured ways,

But your soft presence never dies

From out the pathway of my days.

The spring is where you are; but still

You, far away, to me can bring

Sweet flowers and dreams enough to fill

A thousand empty worlds with spring.

I walk the wet and leafless woods,

Your spirit ever floats before,

And lights its russet solitudes

With blossoms summer never wore.

I sit beside my lonely fire,

The shadows almost bring your face,

And light with memory and desire

My desolated dwelling-place.

Among my books I feel your hand

That turns the page just past my sight;

Sometimes behind my chair you stand

And read the foolish rhymes I write.

The old piano’s keys I press

In random chords—until I hear

Your voice, your rustling silken dress,

And smell the roses that you wear.

I do not weep now any more,

I think I hardly even sigh,

I would not let you think I bore

The kind of wound of which men die.

Believe that smooth content has grown

Over the ghastly grave of pain;

Content! Oh lips that were my own

That I shall never kiss again!