Explore "Mother" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
A little room with scanty grace / Of drapery or ordered ease; / White dimity, and well-scrubbed boards, -- / But there's a hum of summer bees, / The sun sends through the quiet place / The scent that honeysuckle hoards.
Outside, the little garden glows / With sun-warmed leaves and blossoms bright; / Beyond lie meadow, lane, and wood / Where trail the briony and wild rose, / And where grow blossoms of delight / In an inviolate solitude.
Through that green world there blows an air / That cools my forehead even here / In this sad city's riotous roar -- / And from that room my ears can hear / Tears and the echo of a prayer, / And the world's voice is heard no more.