Explore "The Eternal" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
YOUR dear desired grace, / Your hands, your lips of red, / The wonder of your perfect face / Will fade, like sweet rose-petals shed, / When you are dead.
Your beautiful hair / Dust in the dust will lie- / But not the light I worship there, / The gold the sunshine crowns you by- / This will not die.
Your beautiful eyes / Will be closed up with clay; / But all the magic they comprise, / The hopes, the dreams, the ecstasies / Pass not away.
All I desire and see / Will be a carrion thing; / But all that you have been to me / Is, and can never cease to be.
O Grave! where is thy victory? / Where, Death, thy sting?