Augusta Davies Webster Poems

'TWAS yesterday; 'twas long ago:
And for this flaunting grimy street,
And for this crowding to and fro,
...

A FLOWER was growing alone,
Then alone and for ever alone:
Some one came by,
...

Joy that's half too keen, and true,
Makes us tears.
Oh! the sweetness of the tears!
...

Spring Stornelli.
THE RIVULET.
OH clear smooth rivulet, creeping through our bridge
With backward waves that cling around the shore,
...

LOVE is dying. Why then, let it die.
Trample it down, that it die more fast.
What is a rose that has lost its bloom?
...

ONCE a sea-nymph loved a boy:
He and she they loved so well.
'Oh the foamy billow's joy!
...

If I should die this night, (as well might be,
So pain has on my weakness worked its will),
And they should come at morn and look on me
...

She has made me wayside posies: here they stand,
Bringing fresh memories of where they grew.
As new-come travellers from a world we knew
Wake every while some image of their land,
...

Five minutes here, and they must steal two more!
shameful! Here have I been five mortal years
and not seen home nor one dear kindred face,
and these abominable slugs, this guard,
...

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.
...