Poem by Augusta Webster

* * *

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.

1. Dearest, This One Day We Own
2. Her Memories
3. The Pine
4. The Violet and the Rose
5. My Loss

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