Meet us on:
Entire Site
    Try our fun game

    Dueling book covers…may the best design win!

    Random Quote
    "Real success is finding your lifework in the work that you love."

    Subscribe to Our Newsletter

    Follow us on Twitter

    Never miss a good book again! Follow Read Print on Twitter

    The Point of View

    by Edith Nesbit
    • Rate it:
    Launch Reading Mode

    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.


    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.

    The Point of View: II.


    In the wood of lost causes, the valley of tears,
    Old hopes, like dead leaves, choke the difficult way;
    Dark pinions fold dank round the soul, and it hears:
    "It is night, it is night, it has never been day;
    Thou hast dreamed of the day, of the rose of delight;
    It was always dead leaves and the heart of the night.
    Drink deep then, and rest, O thou foolish wayfarer,
    For night, like a chalice, holds sleep in her hands."


    Then you drain the dark cup, and, half-drugged as you lie
    In the arms of despair that is masked as delight,
    You thrill to the rush of white wings, and you hear:
    "It is day, it is day, it has never been night!
    Thou hast dreamed of the night and the wood of lost leaves;
    It was always noon, June, and red roses in sheaves,
    Unlock the blind lids, and behold the light-bearer
    Who holds, like a monstrance, the sun in his hands."
    If you're writing a The Point of View essay and need some advice, post your Edith Nesbit essay question on our Facebook page where fellow bookworms are always glad to help!

    Top 5 Authors

    Top 5 Books

    Book Status
    Want to read

    Are you sure you want to leave this group?