Augusta Davies Webster

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

Augusta Davies Webster Poems

1. Yu-Pe-Ya’s Dirge For Tse-Ky 4/2/2010
2. Young Laughters, And My Music! 1/3/2003
3. Young May Sat Fainting And Chill 4/2/2010
4. White Rose And Red 4/2/2010
5. While The Woods Were Green 4/2/2010
6. Where Home Was 4/2/2010
7. Where Found Love His Yesterday? 4/2/2010
8. Waiting, Waiting 4/2/2010
9. Waiting 4/2/2010
10. Too Soon So Fair, Fair Lilies 4/2/2010
11. To-Day 4/2/2010
12. Tis Hard 1/3/2003
13. Tired 1/3/2003
14. The Wind’s Tidings In August 1870 4/2/2010
15. The Violet And The Rose 4/2/2010
16. The Swallows 4/2/2010
17. The Sky-Lark’s Song 4/2/2010
18. The Sea-Maid’s Song 4/2/2010
19. The Pine 1/3/2003
20. The Oldest Inhabitant 4/2/2010
21. The Old Love 4/2/2010
22. The Old Dream 4/2/2010
23. The Missing Star 4/2/2010
24. The Manuscript Of Saint Alexius 1/3/2003
25. The Happiest Girl In The World 1/3/2003
26. The Flower By The Path 4/2/2010
27. The First Spring Day 4/2/2010
28. The Butterfly 4/2/2010
29. The Brook Rhine 4/2/2010
30. The Brook Leaps Riotous 1/3/2003
31. Tell Thee Truth, Sweet; No 4/2/2010
32. Tell Me Not Of Morrows, Sweet 4/2/2010
33. St. Ame 4/2/2010
34. Siste Viator 4/2/2010
35. She Has Made Me Wayside Posies 1/3/2003
36. Seeds With Wings, Between Earth And Sky 4/2/2010
37. Safe 1/3/2003
38. Questions And Answer 4/2/2010
39. Poulain The Prisoner 4/2/2010
40. One Star Only For Love's Heaven 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

Circe

The sun drops luridly into the west;
darkness has raised her arms to draw him down
before the time, not waiting as of wont
till he has come to her behind the sea;
and the smooth waves grow sullen in the gloom
and wear their threatening purple; more and more
the plain of waters sways and seems to rise
convexly from its level of the shores;
and low dull thunder rolls along the beach:

[Hata Bildir]