Augusta Davies Webster Poems

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.
...

Dead is he? Yes, our stranger guest said dead--
said it by noonday, when it seemed a thing
most natural and so indifferent
as if the tale ran that a while ago
...

Young laughters, and my music! Aye till now
The voice can reach no blending minors near;
'Tis the bird's trill because the spring is here
And spring means trilling on a blossomy bough;
...

TOO rash, sweet birds, spring is not spring;
Sharp winds are fell in east and north;
Late blossoms die for peeping forth; Rains numb, frost
...

(The Doubter lays aside his book.)

"Answered a score of times." Oh, looked for teacher,
is this all you will teach me? I in the dark
...

Not yet!

I thought this time 'twas done at last,
the workings perfected, the life in it;
...

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;
...

A bird and flower upon the tree,
Sweet peony and oriole,
Each of them a perfect soul,
...

DAY is dead, and let us sleep,
Sleep a while or sleep for aye,
'Twere the best if we unknew
...

FAREWELL: we two shall still meet day by day,
Live side by side;
But never more shall heart respond to heart.
...