Augusta Davies Webster

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

Augusta Davies Webster Poems

1. Birds Sing I Love You, Love 1/3/2003
2. A Castaway 1/3/2003
3. Medea In Athens 1/3/2003
4. Young Laughters, And My Music! 1/3/2003
5. A Song Of A Spring-Time 4/2/2010
6. A Bird And Flower Upon The Tree 4/2/2010
7. A Soul In Prison 1/3/2003
8. Circe 1/3/2003
9. Day Is Dead, And Let Us Sleep 4/2/2010
10. Farewell 4/2/2010
11. An Inventor 1/3/2003
12. Dear Love, Good-Night 4/2/2010
13. Autumn’s Warnings 4/2/2010
14. Disenchanted 4/2/2010
15. The Happiest Girl In The World 1/3/2003
16. Beyond The Shadow 4/2/2010
17. White Rose And Red 4/2/2010
18. Deserted 1/3/2003
19. Belated 4/2/2010
20. Dearest, This One Day We Own 4/2/2010
21. Choosing 4/2/2010
22. Waiting, Waiting 4/2/2010
23. Tell Thee Truth, Sweet; No 4/2/2010
24. Betrothed 4/2/2010
25. Hark The Sky-Lark In The Cloud 4/2/2010
26. A Coarse Morning 4/2/2010
27. A Comrade 4/2/2010
28. A Preacher 1/3/2003
29. A Summer Mood 4/2/2010
30. Love's Mourner 1/3/2003
31. A Dilettante 1/3/2003
32. Where Found Love His Yesterday? 4/2/2010
33. Her Memories 4/2/2010
34. While The Woods Were Green 4/2/2010
35. The Violet And The Rose 4/2/2010
36. Mother And Daughter- Sonnet Sequence 4/2/2010
37. In An Almshouse 1/3/2003
38. My Loss 4/2/2010
39. Yu-Pe-Ya’s Dirge For Tse-Ky 4/2/2010
40. Where Home Was 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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