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

Birds Sing I Love You, Love

Birds sing "I love you, love" the whole day through,
And not another song can they sing right;
But, singing done with, loving's done with quite,
The autumn sunders every twittering two.
And I'd not have love make too much ado
With sweet parades of fondness and delight,
Lest iterant wont should make caresses trite,
Love-names mere cuckoo ousters of the true.

Oh heart can hear heart's sense in senseless nought,
And heart that's sure of heart has little speech.
What shall it tell? The other knows its thought.
What shall one doubt or question or ...

Read the full of Birds Sing I Love You, Love

The Pine

The elm lets fall its leaves before the frost,
The very oak grows shivering and sere,
The trees are barren when the summer's lost:
But one tree keeps its goodness all the year.

Green pine, unchanging as the days go by,
Thou art thyself beneath whatever sky:
My shelter from all winds, my own strong pine,
'Tis spring, 'tis summer, still, while thou art mine.

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