I lived from 1837-1894.
I was from England, and am in the English category.
Born in Poole, Dorset, on January 30, 1837, as Julia Augusta Davies, Augusta Webster spent her young years on the ship Griper, stationed at such places as Banff Castle and Penzance, and then in 1851, at Cambridge. Her education was informal but she studied at the Cambridge School of Art.
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Thomas Webster and Augusta, who had published a volume of poems in 1860 under a nom-de-plume, Cecil Home, wed in December 1863. A fellow at Trinity College Cambridge who eventually lectured at law there, Thomas moved with Augusta to London in 1870, where he practiced law. Under her married name, she published five volumes of verse in their first seven years of marriage that singled her out as an extraordinary voice in Victorian poetry: Dramatic Studies (1866), A Woman Sold (1867), Portraits(1870), and translations of Aeschylus's Prometheus Bound and Euripides' Medea. Her novels and plays, although successful in her time, are less read to-day. Child-rearing done, Augusta successfully ran in Chelsea for election in the London School Board in 1879 and again, after a term out-of-office when she had gone to Italy for her health, in 1885. She died on September 5, 1894, at 57, survived by her husband and a daughter.
Popular poetry
Poor little diary, with its simple thoughts,
its good resolves, its "Studied French an hour,"
662 lines, 1 comment
DAY is dead, and let us sleep,
Sleep a while or sleep for aye,
11 lines
Not yet!
I thought this time 'twas done at last,
210 lines
A bird and flower upon the tree,
Sweet peony and oriole,
33 lines
A week ago; only a little week:
it seems so much much longer, though that day
266 lines
"Answered a score of times." Oh, looked for teacher,
is this all you will teach me? I in the dark
250 lines
The elm lets fall its leaves before the frost,
The very oak grows shivering and sere,
8 lines
DEAREST, this one day we own,
Stolen from the crowd and press,
17 lines
WHITE rose sighed in the morn,
Red rose laughed in the noon,
13 lines
Joy that's half too keen, and true,
Makes us tears.
18 lines
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