This is the room to which she came, <br />And Spring itself came with her; <br />She stirred the fire of life to flame, <br />She called all music hither. <br />Her glance upon the lean white walls <br />Hung them with cloth of splendour, <br />And still the rose she dropped recalls <br />The graces that attend her. <br /> <br />The same poor room, so dull and bare <br />Before, in consecration, <br />She breathed upon its common air <br />The true transfiguration . . .? <br />This room the same to which she came <br />For one immortal minute? - <br />How can it ever be the same <br />Since she has once been in it!<br /><br />Edith Nesbit<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/white-magic-6/
