Explore "Morning" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was about the time of day / When all the lawns with dew are wet; / I wandered down a steep wood-way, / And there I met with Margaret -- / Her hands were full of boughs of may.
It was the merest chance we met: / I could not find a word to say, / And she was silent too -- and yet / For hand and lips I dared to pray -- / And Margaret did not say me nay.
Still on my lips her kisses stay, / Her eyes are like the violet; / Will time take this joy, too, away, / And ever teach me to forget -- / And to forget without regret -- / The dawn, the woods, and Margaret?