Augusta Davies Webster

(30 January 1837 - 5 September 1894 / Dorset, England)

Augusta Davies Webster Poems

1. Poulain The Prisoner 4/2/2010
2. Tell Me Not Of Morrows, Sweet 4/2/2010
3. The Oldest Inhabitant 4/2/2010
4. Not To Be 4/2/2010
5. One Star Only For Love's Heaven 4/2/2010
6. St. Ame 4/2/2010
7. The Sea-Maid’s Song 4/2/2010
8. Too Soon So Fair, Fair Lilies 4/2/2010
9. The Sky-Lark’s Song 4/2/2010
10. The Old Love 4/2/2010
11. The Brook Rhine 4/2/2010
12. Once 4/2/2010
13. The Brook Leaps Riotous 1/3/2003
14. To-Day 4/2/2010
15. Safe 1/3/2003
16. No News From The War 4/2/2010
17. Not Love 4/2/2010
18. The Old Dream 4/2/2010
19. Siste Viator 4/2/2010
20. The Wind’s Tidings In August 1870 4/2/2010
21. Seeds With Wings, Between Earth And Sky 4/2/2010
22. The First Spring Day 4/2/2010
23. The Butterfly 4/2/2010
24. Ni-Chan’s Dirge For Yen-Oey 4/2/2010
25. Questions And Answer 4/2/2010
26. Tis Hard 1/3/2003
27. Waiting 4/2/2010
28. The Swallows 4/2/2010
29. The Manuscript Of Saint Alexius 1/3/2003
30. The Pine 1/3/2003
31. Miles And Miles Of Here And There 4/2/2010
32. News To The King, Good News For All 4/2/2010
33. The Missing Star 4/2/2010
34. Tired 1/3/2003
35. Coming Home 1/3/2003
36. If? 1/3/2003
37. She Has Made Me Wayside Posies 1/3/2003
38. Once A Sea-Nymph Loved A Boy 4/2/2010
39. In After Years 4/2/2010
40. Marjory 4/2/2010
Best Poem of Augusta Davies Webster

A Castaway

Poor little diary, with its simple thoughts,
its good resolves, its "Studied French an hour,"
"Read Modern History," "Trimmed up my grey hat,"
"Darned stockings," "Tatted," "Practised my new song,"
"Went to the daily service," "Took Bess soup,"
"Went out to tea." Poor simple diary!
and did I write it? Was I this good girl,
this budding colourless young rose of home?
did I so live content in such a life,
seeing no larger scope, nor asking it,
than this small constant round -- old clothes to mend,
new clothes to make, then go and say my prayers,
or carry soup,...

Read the full of A Castaway

Deserted

No, mother, I am not sad:
Why think me sad? I was always still,
You remember, even when my heart was most glad
And you used to let me dream at my will;
And now I like better to watch the sea
And the calm sad sky than to laugh with the rest.
You know they are full of chatter and glee,
And I like the quietness best.

[Hata Bildir]