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E. Nesbit

THE MAGIC FLOWER

  THROUGH many days and many days

   The seed of love lay hidden close;

   We walked the dusty tiresome ways

   Where never a leaf or blossom grows.

   And in the darkness, all the while,

   The little seed its heart uncurled,

   And we by many a weary mile

   Travelled towards it, round the world.

  To the hid centre of the maze

   At last we came, and there we found—

  O happy day, O day of days!

   —Twin seed-leaves breaking holy ground.

   We dropped life's joys, a garnered sheaf,

   And spell-bound watched, still hour by hour,

   Magic on magic, leaf by leaf,

   The unfolding of our love's white flower.

LA DERNIERE ROBE DE SOI

  OH, silken gown, all pink and pretty,

   Bought, quite a bargain, in the City,

   Your ill-trained soul full false has played me—

  No Paris gown would have betrayed me.

  You knew, my pretty silken treasure,

   I must not wed for love or pleasure,

   But for a settlement and title;

   Yet you encouraged his recital!

  He said—oh, faithless gown, you listened

   While on your sheen two tear drops glistened—

  He said . . . let love to music set it,

   I'll never speak it—nor forget it!

  "No, no!" I cried, I tried to save you—

  False gown, you showed the tears I gave you!

   You looked discreet when first I found you.

   How could you let his arm go round you?

  You darling dress—I'll smooth your creases,

   I'll wear you till you drop to pieces;

   But poor men's wives wear cotton only—

  Dear gown—I hope you won't feel lonely!

THE LEAST POSSIBLE

  DEAR goddess of the shining shrine

   Where all my votive tapers burn,

   Where every gold-embroidered thought

   And all my flowers of life are brought

   —With many, alas! that are not mine—

  What will you give me in return?

  The bow in Bond Street—in the Park

   The smile all worship on your lips,

   The courteous word at dinner—dance—

  But never a blush—a conscious glance;

   At most, at Henley, in the dark,

   Your fleet mistaken finger-tips?

  Ah, just for once, once only, be

   An altar-server—stoop and set me

   Upon the altar richly wrought

   Of your most secret flower-sweet thought:

   One nightlight's flicker burn for me

   Before you sleep and quite forget me.

EN TOUT CAS

  WHEN I am glad I need your eyes

   To be the stars of Paradise;

   Your lips to be the seal of all

   The joy life grants, and dreams recall;

   Your hand, to lie my hands between

   What time we walk the garden green.

  But most in grief I need your face

   To lean to mine in the desert place;

   Your lips to mock the evil years,

   To sweeten me my cup of tears,

   Your eyes to shine, in cloud's despite,

   Your hands to hold mine through the night.

APPEAL

  Daphnis dearest, wherefore weave me

   Webs of lies lest truth should grieve me?

   I could pardon much, believe me:

   Dower me, Daphnis, or bereave me,

   Kill me, kill me, love me, leave me—

  Damn me, dear, but don't deceive me!

(The Rainbow and the Rose)