Augusta Davies Webster

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

Augusta Davies Webster Poems

41. Not To Be 4/2/2010
42. Once 4/2/2010
43. Once A Sea-Nymph Loved A Boy 4/2/2010
44. One Star Only For Love's Heaven 4/2/2010
45. Poulain The Prisoner 4/2/2010
46. Questions And Answer 4/2/2010
47. Safe 1/3/2003
48. Seeds With Wings, Between Earth And Sky 4/2/2010
49. She Has Made Me Wayside Posies 1/3/2003
50. Siste Viator 4/2/2010
51. St. Ame 4/2/2010
52. Tell Me Not Of Morrows, Sweet 4/2/2010
53. Tell Thee Truth, Sweet; No 4/2/2010
54. The Brook Leaps Riotous 1/3/2003
55. The Brook Rhine 4/2/2010
56. The Butterfly 4/2/2010
57. The First Spring Day 4/2/2010
58. The Flower By The Path 4/2/2010
59. The Happiest Girl In The World 1/3/2003
60. The Manuscript Of Saint Alexius 1/3/2003
61. The Missing Star 4/2/2010
62. The Old Dream 4/2/2010
63. The Old Love 4/2/2010
64. The Oldest Inhabitant 4/2/2010
65. The Pine 1/3/2003
66. The Sea-Maid’s Song 4/2/2010
67. The Sky-Lark’s Song 4/2/2010
68. The Swallows 4/2/2010
69. The Violet And The Rose 4/2/2010
70. The Wind’s Tidings In August 1870 4/2/2010
71. Tired 1/3/2003
72. Tis Hard 1/3/2003
73. To-Day 4/2/2010
74. Too Soon So Fair, Fair Lilies 4/2/2010
75. Waiting 4/2/2010
76. Waiting, Waiting 4/2/2010
77. Where Found Love His Yesterday? 4/2/2010
78. Where Home Was 4/2/2010
79. While The Woods Were Green 4/2/2010
80. White Rose And Red 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:

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