Explore "The Betrothal" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
There is none anywhere / So beautiful as she nor half so dear; / My heart sings ever when she draweth near, / Because she is so good and sweet and fair.
I may not be the one / To break the cloistered stillness of her life, / To teach her passion and love and grief and strife, / And lead her through the garden of the sun.
For I am sad and wise; / I have no hopes, no dreams, no fancies -- none; / Yet she has taught me that I am alone, / And what men mean who talk of Paradise.
But, when her joybells ring, / I think, perhaps, that I shall hear and sigh / And wish the roses did not have to die, / And that the birds might never cease to sing.