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.
More verses by Augusta Davies Webster
- A Bird And Flower Upon The Tree
- A Soul In Prison
- Young Laughters, And My Music!
- Medea In Athens
- A Song Of A Spring-Time