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Edith Nesbit - Unofficial
Work rating: Low

ONE morning, my heart can remember, 
        I sat dreaming there, 
        In the `governor`s` chair 
In the office. The month was November, 
        And the weather a subject for prayer. 


My mind strayed through visions unbounded-- 
        Far-off seemed the din 
        That King William Street`s in, 
And the quill of the `junior` sounded 
        Like the squeak of an elf`s violin. 


I was roused with a start--some one entered. 
        Though ground-glass divide 
        Off the sanctum inside, 
The star where my homage was centred 
        In the office without I descried. 


`Oh, kind Fate, to bring me my Kitty! 
        The boy I can send 
        At the bank to attend: 
One partner`s just gone from the City, 
        And the other is at the West End. 


`Change two pounds, boy, for threepenny pieces! 
        And there isn`t a franc 
        In the place!--I will thank 
You to take down these coupons from Creasy`s 
        To the London and Westminster Bank.` 


He is gone! This can never be Kitty, 
        Alone here with me! 
        Can this ever be she, 
Laughing here in the heart of the City, 
        With the old office cat on her knee? 


`I hope, Ben,` she says, `you are stronger, 
        And I hope it`s not true 
        Work is injuring you; 
And I`d better not stay any longer, 
        As you seem to have so much to do!` 


But she does not go yet. Still she lingers, 
        Dry deed-boxes press 
        The crisp folds of her dress, 
While the desk feels inquisitive fingers 
        In a touch that is half a caress. 


Now, dreary and quiet the place is; 
        Here`s the space on the floor 
        I remember of yore, 
Which was brushed by her ribbons and laces 
        As she smiled her `good-bye` at the door. 


The violets she wore in her bosom, 
        So scented, dew-wet, 
        Are hard to forget; 
The dim office grew fair with each blossom, 
        And their fragrance seems haunting it yet. 


I`m in partnership now with old Bradley; 
        His brother is dead, 
        So I stand as the Head 
Of affairs; and I`m thinking thus sadly 
        Of the sweetness of days that have fled. 


My Wimbledon house--all that`s in it-- 
        My life, with its dower 
        Of money-bag power-- 
I would throw to the dogs in a minute, 
        To recall from those days but one hour. 


Lost light of my eyes, little Kitty! 
        Too late now, too late; 
        But I`d give my estate 
To be once more a clerk in the City-- 
        In the office with you tête-à-tête.
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