Explore "White Magic" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
THIS is the room to which she came, / And Spring itself came with her; / She stirred the fire of life to flame, / She called all music hither.
Her glance upon the lean white walls / Hung them with cloth of splendour, / And still the rose she dropped recalls / The graces that attend her.
The same poor room, so dull and bare / Before, in consecration, / She breathed upon its common air / The true transfiguration . . .? / This room the same to which she came / For one immortal minute? - / How can it ever be the same / Since she has once been in it!