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My Loss

IN the world was one green nook I knew,

Full of roses, roses red and white,

Reddest roses summer ever grew,

Whitest roses ever pearled with dew;

And their sweetness was beyond delight,

Was all love's delight.

Wheresoever in the world I went,

Roses were; for in my heart I took

by Augusta Davies Webster

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.

by Augusta Davies Webster

In After Years

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?

What is a fruit with its freshness past?

And where is the worth of the twilight gloom?

Let the night come when the day has gone by:

Let the dying die.

Leave your useless smiles and your tears,

by Augusta Davies Webster

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?

by Augusta Davies Webster

Choosing

The thrush that, yet alone, pipes for his mate

Knows she will come in time to build the nest,

Knows she'll be she his tiny soul loves best;

'Tis love-time at the hawthorn blossom's date:

And the new flower-cups bare their hearts and wait

While careless breezes bring them love for guest;

And Youth laughs ready for the glad unrest;

But Love that chooses lingers desolate.

by Augusta Davies Webster

Beyond The Shadow

SOME quick kind tears, some easy sorrow,

And then 'tis past.

'Twas sad; yet sadness has its morrow;

Blue skies succeed skies overcast:

Why should grief last?

Something that's passing, something dying.

Well, weep one's fill,

Spend grief's sweet courtesy, go sighing;

by Augusta Davies Webster

Seeds with wings, between earth and sky

Fluttering, flying;

Seeds of a lily with blood-red core

Breathing of myrrh and of giroflore:

Where winds drop them there must they lie,

Living or dying.

Some to the garden, some to the wall,

Fluttering, falling;

by Augusta Davies Webster

Too soon so fair, fair lilies

TOO soon so fair, fair lilies;

To bloom is then to wane;

The folded bud has still

To-morrow at its will;

Blown flowers can never blow again.

Too soon so bright, bright noontide;

The sun that now is high

Will henceforth only sink

by Augusta Davies Webster

Marjory

Spring Stornelli.

THE RIVULET.

OH clear smooth rivulet, creeping through our bridge

With backward waves that cling around the shore,

And is thy world beyond the dim blue ridge

More dear than this, or does it need thee more?

Oh lingering stream, upon thy ceaseless way

Glide to to-morrow; yet 'tis fair to-day:

by Augusta Davies Webster

Belated

BLITHE summer blossom, born too late,

Wilt make my desert garden fair?

Lo Winter's hand is on the gate,

His breath is in the curdling air.

Still yesterweek, but yesterweek,

Thou hadst, unfolding in warm light,

Spread ripening to the crimson streak

And seed to make the next year bright.

by Augusta Davies Webster

Autumn’s Warnings

SOFT voices of the woods, that make

The summer air a harmony,

Winged whispers through the leaves where wake

Long wind-wafts dying in a sigh,

Replies of birds from brake to brake,

Plash of the runnel on its stones,

Soft voices, sweet for summer's sake,

There is a word in all your tones,

by Augusta Davies Webster

Her Memories

NOT by her grave: thither I bid them take

Fresh garlands of the flowers that pleased her best,

And lay them by the headstone, for my sake,

My token and remembrance with the rest:

But here, where in the brightening of the west

I see her mountains grow into the sky,

Her native world, and mine because of her,

Here, where that low sigh of the pinewood's stir,

by Augusta Davies Webster