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?
The Eternal
Edith Nesbit
(1)
Poem topics: away, death, hair, light, magic, never, perfect, red, rose, sunshine, dear, desire, sweet, face, gold, victory, sting, grave, worship, beautiful, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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