Explore "To Vera, Who Asked a Song" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
IF I only had time! / I could make you a rhyme.
But my time is kept flying / By smiling and sighing / And living and dying for you.
The song-seed, I sow it, / I water and hoe it, / But never can grow it.
Ah, traitress, you know it! / What is a poor poet to do?
Ah, let me take breath! / I am harried to death / By the loves and the graces / That crowd where your face is / That lurk in your laces and throng.
Call them off for a minute, / Once let me begin it / The devil is in it / If I can not spin it / As sweet as a linnet, your song!