Explore "The Garden Refused" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
THERE is a garden made for our delight, / Where all the dreams we dare not dream come true.
I know it, but I do not know the way.
We slip and tumble in the doubtful night, / Where everything is difficult and new, / And clouds our breath has made obscure the day.
The blank unhappy towns, where sick men strive, / Still doing work that yet is never done; / The hymns to Gold that drown their desperate voice; / The weeds that grow where once corn stood alive, / The black injustice that puts out the sun: / These are our portion, since they are our choice.
Yet there the garden blows with rose on rose, / The sunny, shadow-dappled lawns are there; / There the immortal lilies, heavenly sweet.
O roses, that for us shall not unclose! / O lilies, that we shall not pluck or wear! / O dewy lawns untrodden by our feet!