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    Spring In War-Time

    by Edith Nesbit
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    Page 1 of 1
    Now the sprinkled blackthorn snow
    Lies along the lovers' lane
    Where last year we used to go -
    Where we shall not go again.

    In the hedge the buds are new,
    By our wood the violets peer -
    Just like last year's violets, too,
    But they have no scent this year.

    Every bird has heart to sing
    Of its nest, warmed by its breast;
    We had heart to sing last spring,
    But we never built our nest.

    Presently red roses blown
    Will make all the garden gay . . .
    Not yet have the daisies grown
    On your clay.

    1916.
    Page 1 of 1
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