<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374242" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Iris</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">IF I might build a palace, fair<br>With every joy of soul and sense,<br>And set my heart as sentry there<br>To guard your happy innocence--<br>If I might plant a hedge so strong<br>No creeping sorrow could writhe through,<br>And find my whole life not too long<br>To give, to make your hedge for you--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If I could teach the wandering air<br>To bring no sounds that were not sweet,<br>Could teach the earth that only fair<br>Untrodden flower deserved your feet:<br>Would I not tear the secret scroll<br>Where all your griefs lie closely curled,<br>And give your little hand control<br>Of all the joys of all the world?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But ah! I have no skill to raise<br>The palace, teach the hedge to grow;<br>The common airs blow through your days,<br>By common ways your dear feet go.<br>And you must twine of common flowers<br>The wreath that happy women wear,<br>And bear in desolate darkened hours<br>The common griefs that all men bear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The pinions of my love I fold<br>Your little shoulders close about:<br>Ah--could my love keep out the cold<br>And shut the creeping sorrows out!<br>Rough paths will tire your darling feet,<br>Gray skies will weep your tears above,<br>While round you still, in torment, beat<br>The impotent wings of mother-love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edith+Nesbit">Edith Nesbit</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374242" data-title="To Iris de Edith Nesbit" data-description="IF I might build a palace, fair With every joy of soul and sense, And set my heart as sentry there To guard your happy innocence-- If I might plant a hedge so strong No creeping sorrow could writhe through, And find my whole life not too long To g..."></div> </div> </div>

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