Augusta Davies Webster

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

Augusta Davies Webster Poems

1. The Oldest Inhabitant 4/2/2010
2. The Sea-Maid’s Song 4/2/2010
3. St. Ame 4/2/2010
4. Too Soon So Fair, Fair Lilies 4/2/2010
5. The Old Love 4/2/2010
6. The Brook Rhine 4/2/2010
7. The Sky-Lark’s Song 4/2/2010
8. The Brook Leaps Riotous 1/3/2003
9. Tell Me Not Of Morrows, Sweet 4/2/2010
10. Poulain The Prisoner 4/2/2010
11. Not To Be 4/2/2010
12. One Star Only For Love's Heaven 4/2/2010
13. To-Day 4/2/2010
14. Safe 1/3/2003
15. Once 4/2/2010
16. Siste Viator 4/2/2010
17. The Wind’s Tidings In August 1870 4/2/2010
18. The Old Dream 4/2/2010
19. The First Spring Day 4/2/2010
20. Seeds With Wings, Between Earth And Sky 4/2/2010
21. Questions And Answer 4/2/2010
22. The Butterfly 4/2/2010
23. The Swallows 4/2/2010
24. Tis Hard 1/3/2003
25. Waiting 4/2/2010
26. The Manuscript Of Saint Alexius 1/3/2003
27. The Pine 1/3/2003
28. Tired 1/3/2003
29. The Missing Star 4/2/2010
30. If? 1/3/2003
31. She Has Made Me Wayside Posies 1/3/2003
32. No News From The War 4/2/2010
33. Not Love 4/2/2010
34. In After Years 4/2/2010
35. Marjory 4/2/2010
36. Ni-Chan’s Dirge For Yen-Oey 4/2/2010
37. Joy That's Half Too Keen, And True 4/2/2010
38. Miles And Miles Of Here And There 4/2/2010
39. The Flower By The Path 4/2/2010
40. Where Home Was 4/2/2010

Comments about Augusta Davies Webster

  • SUE SLACK (3/14/2018 2:46:00 AM)

    can I copy the photo of Augusta Webster for my forthcoming book on Votes fpor Women in Cambridge?

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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

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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