Explore "Death" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
NEVER again: / No child shall stir the inmost heart of her / And teach her heaven by that first faint stir; / No little lips shall lie against her breast / Save the cold lips that now lie there at rest; / No little voice shall rouse her from her sleep / And bid her wake to pain: / Her sleep is calm and deep, / Call not! refrain.
Close in her arm / As though even death drew back before the face / Of Motherhood in this white stilly place, / The gathered bud lies waxen white and cold, / As ever a flower your winter gardens hold.
She bore the pain, she never wore the crown, / She worked the bitter charm, / But all she won thereby is here laid down / Renounced -- for good or harm.
Dream? Feed your soul / With dreams, while we must starve our hearts on clay, / Dream of a glorious white-winged sun-crowned day / When you shall see her once more face to face / Beside Christ's Mother in the blessed place! / But while you dream, they carry her from here, / The black bells toll and toll.
Oh God! if only she cannot see or hear, / Not hear those ghoul-like bells that crowd so near, / Not see that cold clay hole.