William Henry Davies

The Best Friend

Now shall I walk Or shall I ride? “Ride”, Pleasure said; “Walk”, Joy replied. Now what shall I Stay home or roam? “Roam”, Pleasure said; And Joy “stay home.” Now shall I dance, Or

April's Charms

When April scatters charms of primrose gold Among the copper leaves in thickets old, And singing skylarks from the meadows rise, To twinkle like black stars in sunny skies; When I can hear the

The Child and the Mariner

A dear old couple my grandparents were, And kind to all dumb things; they saw in Heaven The lamb that Jesus petted when a child; Their faith was never draped by Doubt: to them

This Night

This night, as I sit here alone, And brood on what is dead and gone, The owl that’s in this Highgate Wood, Has found his fellow in my mood; To every star, as it

The Kingfisher

It was the Rainbow gave thee birth, And left thee all her lovely hues; And, as her mother’s name was Tears, So runs it in my blood to choose For haunts the lonely pools,

The Rain

I hear leaves drinking rain; I hear rich leaves on top Giving the poor beneath Drop after drop; ‘Tis a sweet noise to hear These green leaves drinking near. And when the Sun comes

The Hawk

Thou dost not fly, thou art not perched, The air is all around: What is it that can keep thee set, From falling to the ground? The concentration of thy mind Supports thee in

The Example

Here’s an example from A Butterfly; That on a rough, hard rock Happy can lie; Friendless and all alone On this unsweetened stone. Now let my bed be hard No care take I; I’ll

Seeking Beauty

Cold winds can never freeze, nor thunder sour The cup of cheer that Beauty draws for me Out of those Azure heavens and this green earth I drink and drink, and thirst the more

Sadness and Joy

I pray you, Sadness, leave me soon, In sweet invention thou art poor! Thy sister, Joy can make ten songs While thou art making four. One hour with thee is sweet enough; But when

In May

Yes, I will spend the livelong day With Nature in this month of May; And sit beneath the trees, and share My bread with birds whose homes are there; While cows lie down to

A Plain Life

No idle gold since this fine sun, my friend, Is no mean miser, but doth freely spend. No prescious stones since these green mornings show, Without a charge, their pearls where’er I go. No

The Dark Hour

And now, when merry winds do blow, And rain makes trees look fresh, An overpowering staleness holds This mortal flesh. Though well I love to feel the rain, And be by winds well blown

When on a Summer's Morn

When on a summer’s morn I wake, And open my two eyes, Out to the clear, born-singing rills My bird-like spirit flies. To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush, Or any bird in song; And

The Sleepers

As I walked down the waterside This silent morning, wet and dark; Before the cocks in farmyards crowed, Before the dogs began to bark; Before the hour of five was struck By old Westminster’s

Come, Let Us Find

Come, let us find a cottage, love, That’s green for half a mile around; To laugh at every grumbling bee, Whose sweetest blossom’s not yet found. Where many a bird shall sing for you,

A Greeting

Good morning, Life and all Things glad and beautiful. My pockets nothing hold, But he that owns the gold, The Sun, is my great friend His spending has no end. Hail to the morning

A Great Time

Sweet Chance, that led my steps abroad, Beyond the town, where wild flowers grow A rainbow and a cuckoo, Lord, How rich and great the times are now! Know, all ye sheep And cows,

The Sluggard

A jar of cider and my pipe, In summer, under shady tree; A book by one that made his mind Live by its sweet simplicity: Then must I laugh at kings who sit In

The Heap of Rags

One night when I went down Thames’ side, in London Town, A heap of rags saw I, And sat me down close by. That thing could shout and bawl, But showed no face at

The Moon

Thy beauty haunts me heart and soul, Oh, thou fair Moon, so close and bright; Thy beauty makes me like the child That cries aloud to own thy light: The little child that lifts

Songs of Joy

Sing out, my soul, thy songs of joy; Sing as a happy bird will sing Beneath a rainbow’s lovely arch In the spring. Think not of death in thy young days; Why shouldst thou

Laughing Rose

If I were gusty April now, How I would blow at laughing Rose; I’d make her ribbons slip their knots, And all her hair come loose. If I were merry April now, How I

Where We Differ

To think my thoughts are hers, Not one of hers is mine; She laughs while I must sigh; She sighs while I must whine. She eats while I must fast; She reads while I

The Likeness

When I came forth this morn I saw Quite twenty cloudlets in the air; And then I saw a flock of sheep, Which told me how these clouds came there. That flock of sheep,

Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Well-content, Thou knowest of no strange continent; Thou hast not felt thy bosom keep A gentle motion with the deep; Thou hast not sailed in Indian seas, Where scent comes forth

Truly Great

My walls outside must have some flowers, My walls within must have some books; A house that’s small; a garden large, And in it leafy nooks. A little gold that’s sure each week; That

A Fleeting Passion

Thou shalt not laugh, thou shalt not romp, Let’s grimly kiss with bated breath; As quietly and solemnly As Life when it is kissing Death. Now in the silence of the grave, My hand

Days Too Short

When primroses are out in Spring, And small, blue violets come between; When merry birds sing on boughs green, And rills, as soon as born, must sing; When butterflies will make side-leaps, As though

Charms

She walks as lightly as the fly Skates on the water in July. To hear her moving petticoat For me is music’s highest note. Stones are not heard, when her feet pass, No more

No Master

Indeed this is the sweet life! my hand Is under no proud man’s command; There is no voice to break my rest Before a bird has left its nest; There is no man to

Money

When I had money, money, O! I knew no joy till I went poor; For many a false man as a friend Came knocking all day at my door. Then felt I like a

Leisure

What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows. No time to

Rich Days

Welcome to you rich Autumn days, Ere comes the cold, leaf-picking wind; When golden stocks are seen in fields, All standing arm-in-arm entwined; And gallons of sweet cider seen On trees in apples red

The Hermit

WHAT moves that lonely man is not the boom Of waves that break agains the cliff so strong; Nor roar of thunder, when that travelling voice Is caught by rocks that carry far along.

The Villain

While joy gave clouds the light of stars, That beamed wher’er they looked; And calves and lambs had tottering knees, Excited, while they sucked; While every bird enjoyed his song, Without one thought of

The Bird of Paradise

Here comes Kate Summers, who, for gold, Takes any man to bed: “You knew my friend, Nell Barnes,” she said; “You knew Nell Barnes she’s dead. “Nell Barnes was bad on all you men,

In the Country

This life is sweetest; in this wood I hear no children cry for food; I see no woman, white with care; No man, with muscled wasting here. No doubt it is a selfish thing

Thunderstorms

My mind has thunderstorms, That brood for heavy hours: Until they rain me words, My thoughts are drooping flowers And sulking, silent birds. Yet come, dark thunderstorms, And brood your heavy hours; For when

All in June

A week ago I had a fire To warm my feet, my hands and face; Cold winds, that never make a friend, Crept in and out of every place. Today the fields are rich

Ale

Now do I hear thee weep and groan, Who hath a comrade sunk at sea? Then quaff thee of my good old ale, And it will raise him up for thee; Thoul’t think as

The Flood

I thought my true love slept; Behind her chair I crept And pulled out a long pin; The golden flood came out, She shook it all about, With both our faces in. Ah! little

The Boy

Go, little boy, Fill thee with joy; For Time gives thee Unlicensed hours, To run in fields, And roll in flowers. A little boy Can life enjoy; If but to see The horses pass,

Rich or Poor

With thy true love I have more wealth Than Charon’s piled-up bank doth hold; Where he makes kings lay down their crowns And life-long misers leave their gold. Without thy love I’ve no more

Nell Barnes

They lived apart for three long years, Bill Barnes and Nell his wife; He took his joy from other girls, She led a wicked life. Yet ofttimes she would pass his shop, With some

The Mind's Liberty

The mind, with its own eyes and ears, May for these others have no care; No matter where this body is, The mind is free to go elsewhere. My mind can be a sailor,

The Happy Child

I saw this day sweet flowers grow thick But not one like the child did pick. I heard the packhounds in green park But no dog like the child heard bark. I heard this

Joy and Pleasure

Now, joy is born of parents poor, And pleasure of our richer kind; Though pleasure’s free, she cannot sing As sweet a song as joy confined. Pleasure’s a Moth, that sleeps by day And