Poem by Augusta Webster

* * *

DEAREST, this one day we own,
    Stolen from the crowd and press,
    Let it be sweet silence's.
We two, heart in heart, alone;
Any speech were less.

We are weary, even thus,
    Talk might turn to discontent
    Else be practised merriment:
Earth and sky will speak for us
Nearer as we meant.

We two in the stillness, dear,
    Fair dreams come without our quest;
    Not to talk of life is best.
Ah, our holiday is here,Let it all be rest.

1. Deserted
2. Love's Mourner
3. Circe
4. Young Laughters, and My Music!
5. Safe

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