Edith (Nesbit) Bland (1858–1924)

IT’S lonely in my study here alone

Now you are gone;

I loved to see your white gown mid the flowers,

While, hours on hours,

I studied—toiled to weave a crown of fame

About your name.

I liked to hear your sweet, low laughter ring;

To hear you sing

About the house while I sat reading here,

My child, my dear;

To know you glad with all the life-joys fair

I dared not share.

I thought there would be time enough to show

My love, you know,

When I could lay with laurels at your feet

Love’s roses sweet;

I thought I could taste love when fame was won—

Now both are done!

Thank God, your child-heart knew not how to miss

The passionate kiss,

Which I dared never give, lest love should rise

Mighty, unwise,

And bind me, with my life-work incomplete,

Beside your feet.

You never knew, you lived and were content;

My one chance went;

You died, my little one, and are at rest—

And I, unblest,

Look at these broken fragments of my life,

My child, my wife.