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. She Has Made Me Wayside Posies
2. Betrothed
3. The Swallows
4. Young Laughters, and My Music!
5. 'Tis Hard

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