Explore "The Point of View: I" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I
THERE was never winter, summer only: roses, / Pink and white and red, / Shining down the warm rich garden closes; / Quiet trees and lawns of dappled shadow, / Silver lilies, whisper of mignonette, / Cloth-of-gold of buttercups outspread; / Good gold sun that kissed me when we met, / Shadows of floating clouds on sunny meadow.
In the hay-field, scented, grey, / Loving life and love, I lay; / By fresh airs blown, drifted into sleep; / Slept and dreamed there. Winter was the dream.
II
Summer never was, was always winter only; / Cold and ice and frost / Only, driven by the ice-wind, lonely, / In a world of strangers, in the welter / Of the puddles and the spiteful wind and sleet, / Blinded by the spitting hailstones, lost / In a bitter unfamiliar street, / I found a doorway, crouched there for just shelter, / Crouched and fought in vain for breath, / Cursed the cold and wished for death; / Crouched there, gathered somehow warmth to sleep; / Slept and dreamed there. Summer was the dream.