Augusta Davies Webster

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

Augusta Davies Webster Poems

1. A Bird And Flower Upon The Tree 4/2/2010
2. A Castaway 1/3/2003
3. A Coarse Morning 4/2/2010
4. A Comrade 4/2/2010
5. A Dilettante 1/3/2003
6. A Preacher 1/3/2003
7. A Song Of A Spring-Time 4/2/2010
8. A Soul In Prison 1/3/2003
9. A Summer Mood 4/2/2010
10. An Inventor 1/3/2003
11. Autumn’s Warnings 4/2/2010
12. Belated 4/2/2010
13. Betrothed 4/2/2010
14. Beyond The Shadow 4/2/2010
15. Birds Sing I Love You, Love 1/3/2003
16. Choosing 4/2/2010
17. Circe 1/3/2003
18. Coming Home 1/3/2003
19. Day Is Dead, And Let Us Sleep 4/2/2010
20. Dear Love, Good-Night 4/2/2010
21. Dearest, This One Day We Own 4/2/2010
22. Deserted 1/3/2003
23. Disenchanted 4/2/2010
24. Farewell 4/2/2010
25. Hark The Sky-Lark In The Cloud 4/2/2010
26. Her Memories 4/2/2010
27. If? 1/3/2003
28. In After Years 4/2/2010
29. In An Almshouse 1/3/2003
30. Joy That's Half Too Keen, And True 4/2/2010
31. Love's Mourner 1/3/2003
32. Marjory 4/2/2010
33. Medea In Athens 1/3/2003
34. Miles And Miles Of Here And There 4/2/2010
35. Mother And Daughter- Sonnet Sequence 4/2/2010
36. My Loss 4/2/2010
37. News To The King, Good News For All 4/2/2010
38. Ni-Chan’s Dirge For Yen-Oey 4/2/2010
39. No News From The War 4/2/2010
40. Not Love 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

Tired

No not to-night, dear child; I cannot go;
I'm busy, tired; they knew I should not come;
you do not need me there. Dear, be content,
and take your pleasure; you shall tell me of it.
There, go to don your miracles of gauze,
and come and show yourself a great pink cloud.

So, she has gone with half a discontent;
but it will die before her curls are shaped,

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