William Henry Davies - poems S & W ( modified: 2010-08-27 02:48:00   /   stats: 273   /   author: wiko   /   download )

William Henry Davies   
(1871 - 1940 / Wales)   
 
1. 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 we find the whole day gone 
And no created thing is left -- 
We mourn the evil done. 
 
Thou art too slow to shape thy thoughts 
In stone, on canvas, or in song; 
But Joy, being full of active heat, 
Must do some deed ere long. 
 
Thy sighs are gentle, sweet thy tears; 
But if thou canst not help a man 
To prove in substance what he feels -- 
Then givve me Joy, who can. 
 
Therefore sweet Sadness, leave me soon, 
Let thy bright sister, Joy, come more; 
For she can make ten lovely songs 
While thou art making four. 
 
2. 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 I see. 
 
To see the dewdrops thrill the blades of grass, 
Makes my whole body shake; for here's my choice 
Of either sun or shade, and both are green -- 
A Chaffinch laughs in his melodious voice. 
 
The banks are stormed by Speedwell, that blue flower 
So like a little heaven with one star out; 
I see an amber lake of buttercups, 
And Hawthorn foams the hedges round about. 
 
The old Oak tree looks now so green and young, 
That even swallows perch awhile and sing: 
This is that time of year, so sweet and warm, 
When bats wait not for stars ere they take wing. 
 
As long as I love Beauty I am young, 
Am young or old as I love more or less; 
When Beauty is not heeded or seems stale, 
My life's a cheat, let Death end my distress 
 
3. 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 that grim tyrant fear? 
And fear him not when thou art old, 
And he is near. 
 
Strive not for gold, for greedy fools 
Measure themselves by poor men never; 
Their standard still being richer men, 
Makes them poor ever. 
 
Train up thy mind to feel content, 
What matters then how low thy store? 
What we enjoy, and not possess, 
Makes rich or poor. 
 
Filled with sweet thought, then happy I 
Take not my state from other's eyes; 
What's in my mind -- not on my flesh 
Or theirs -- I prize. 
 
Sing, happy soul, thy songs of joy; 
Such as a Brook sings in the wood, 
That all night has been strengthened by 
Heaven's purer flood. 
 
4. Sweet Stay-at-Home 
 
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 in every breeze. 
Thou hast not seen the rich grape grow 
For miles, as far as eyes can go: 
Thou hast not seen a summer's night 
When maids could sew by a worm's light; 
Nor the North Sea in spring send out 
Bright hues that like birds flit about 
In solid cages of white ice -- 
Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Love-one-place, 
Thou hast not seen black fingers pick 
White cotton when the bloom is thick, 
Nor heard black throats in harmony; 
Nor hast thou sat on stones that lie 
Flat on the earth, that once did rise 
To hide proud kings from common eyes. 
Thou hast not seen plains full of bloom 
Where green things had such little room 
They pleased the eye like fairer flowers -- 
Sweet Stay-at-Home, all these long hours. 
Sweet Well-content, sweet Love-one-place, 
Sweet, simple maid, bless thy dear face; 
For thou hast made more homely stuff 
Nurture thy gentle self enough; 
I love thee for a heart that's kind -- 
Not for the knowledge in thy mind. 
 
5. 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 common leaves that hum all day 
Without a throat or tongue. 
 
And when Time strikes the hour for sleep, 
Back in my room alone, 
My heart has many a sweet bird's song -- 
And one that's all my own. 
 
6. 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 am blind; 
She sleeps -- while I must wake; 
Free -- I no freedom find. 
 
To think the world for me 
Contains but her alone, 
And that her eyes prefer 
Some ribbon, scarf, or stone.