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Edith Nesbit - A Star In The East
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FOR THE ART EXHIBITION AT ST. JUDE`S, WHITECHAPEL

LIKE a fair flower springing fresh, sweet, and bright, 
    Through prison stones; or like one perfect song 
Heard in a dream on one remembered night, 
    When waking worlds were dumb with grief and wrong; 
Like the one kiss that links--first kiss and last-- 
    The inevitable future spent apart 
With the immutable divided past: 
    So in the east shines out this star of Art. 


The narrow-shouldered, pale-faced girl and boy 
    Nestle against Art`s new-found, love-warm breast, 
And feel vague stirrings of a far-off joy, 
    Which life has never for themselves possessed, 
And dimly guess at wonders hardly known-- 
    Even as dreams--and weep glad tears to see 
A loveliness that is at once life`s own, 
    And yet is something life can never be. 


Not worse will work the flying busy hand 
    Because the soul has drunk a cup of pleasure, 
Has picked up on its leaden-coloured strand 
    Some little jewel of Art`s splendid treasure, 
Nor will less work be done because men see 
    That work is not the only thing in life, 
Because they have been glad at heart and free 
    A little space `mid sorrow, sin, and strife. 


And this sweet draught may banish men`s content? 
    For this we pray and strive--not all in vain-- 
That men may reach such heights of discontent 
    As never to fall back to peace again 
Where no peace is--nor rest from strife and prayers, 
    But tread firm-footed up the thorny way, 
Till all that spring of art and joy is theirs 
    Whereof they taste so small a draught to-day.
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