One star only for Love's heaven
ONE star only for Love's heaven;
One rose only for Love's breast;
One love only to be given.
Star that gathers all stars' glory
Rose all sweetness of the rest;
Love that is all life's glad story.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Day is dead, and let us sleep
DAY is dead, and let us sleep,
Sleep a while or sleep for aye,
'Twere the best if we unknew
While to-morrow dawned and grew;
It may bring us time to weep:
We were glad to-day.
Joy a little while is won,
Joy is ending while begun;
Then the setting of the sun.
Afterwards is long to rue.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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The Flower By The Path
A FLOWER was growing alone,
Then alone and for ever alone:
Some one came by,
Saw the flower how fair it had grown,
Chose it, plucked it to die.
And what is a flower alone,
Then alone and for ever alone,
Come no one by?
Why should a flower be fair for its own?
Choose it, pluck it to die.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Young May sat fainting and chill
YOUNG May sat fainting and chill,
And neither could live nor die;
She looked and hated the sky,
Yet knew not what was her ill.
Ah well-a-day!
For the lonely May.
She tired of weeping, and slept;
Who woke her up but the Sun?
And joy and love had begun
To teach her why she had wept
Oh bright new day
For the startled May!
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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The Violet And The Rose
The violet in the wood, that's sweet to-day,
Is longer sweet than roses of red June;
Set me sweet violets along my way,
And bid the red rose flower, but not too soon.
Ah violet, ah rose, why not the two?
Why bloom not all fair flowers the whole year through?
Why not the two, young violet, ripe rose?
Why dies one sweetness when another blows?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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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.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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WAITING, waiting
WAITING, waiting. 'Tis so far
To the day that is to come:
One by one the days that are
All to tell their countless sum;
Each to dawn and each to die—
What so far as by and by?
Waiting, waiting. 'Tis not ours,
This to-day that flies so fast:
Let them go, the shadowy hours,
Floating, floated, into Past.
Our day wears to-morrow's sky—
What so near as by and by?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Hark the sky-lark in the cloud
HARK the sky-lark in the cloud,
Hark the cricket in the grass,
Trilling blitheness clear and loud,
Chirping glee to all who pass.
Oh, the merry summer lay!
Earth and sky keep holiday.
Hear the leaves that kiss the air,
Hear the laughter of the bees:
Who remembers winter care
In the shining days like these?
Oh, the merry lay of June!
All our hearts are glad in tune.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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White Rose And Red
WHITE rose sighed in the morn,
Red rose laughed in the noon,
And 'Sweetest sweetness is ended soon,'
And 'Never heed for the thorn.'
'Love's hour passes away,'
White rose breathed in my ear;
Red rose whispered 'No need to fear;
The day is enough for day.'
Shall I heed white or red?
Shall I heed both aright?
Sighing and laughing, red and white,
'Tis 'Love her' they both have said.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Dear love, good-night
DEAR love, good-night. And, tender sleep
,Seal up her lids like these drowsed flowers,
To make day fair when they unclose.
Be hushed around her, Night, and keep
Thy silent guard on her repose;
But speed thine hours.
Dear love, sleep on. This weary space
I wake and long for day and thee,
And count the slow stars from their west.
Sleep while I hunger for thy face,
Sleep, dearest, in unbroken rest;
But dream of me.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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