Charms Poem by William Henry Davies
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 than tumps of moss or grass.
When she sits still, she's like the flower
To be a butterfly next hour.
The brook laughs not more sweet, when he
Trips over pebbles suddenly.
My Love, like him, can whisper low --
When he comes where green cresses grow.
She rises like the lark, that hour
He goes halfway to meet a shower.
A fresher drink is in her looks
Than Nature gives me, or old books.
When I in my Love's shadow sit,
I do not miss the sun one bit.
When she is near, my arms can hold
All that's worth having in this world.
And when I know not where she is,
Nothing can come but comes amiss.
Then of course the metaphors and imagery is from heaven. I enjoyed this.
This Poet was born in 1871 and passed in 1940. An incredibly marvelous painter of feelings and emotions will a lyric as clear as a bell.
Magnanimity of the feeling of love exquisitely unfolded. Well deserved classic poem of the day.
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When I in my Love's shadow sit, I do not miss the sun one bit./// when love comes and lives in the lover's heart permanently then lover misses not anything; then lover feel love and love wherever s/he turns her/his sight; greatly written the poem entitling CHARMS; enjoyable poem
'And when I know not where she is, Nothing can come but comes amiss.' - The nice poem ends appropriately with these beautiful lines! Congratulations on your poem's selection as the 'Classic Poem of the Day'!
" She's like the flower" ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
I love the myriad metaphors and analogies with nature: she light as a fly in July, she’s the most delightful musical note, she’s a flower to be a butterfly next hour etc. The meter is iambic tetrameter I believe. Overall, a fun poem! No Poe but good!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/1/2024 12:51:22 PM # 1.0.0
Lovely. Nothing beats rhyming in poetry and to rhyme and get the story still intact is ecstasy of one kind. Love is in the air.