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William Henry Davies
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William Henry Davies Poems
- Leisure What is this life if, full of care, We have no time ...
- Money When I had money, money, O! I knew no joy till I went ...
- Joy And Pleasure Now, joy is born of parents poor, And ...
- A Plain Life No idle gold -- since this fine sun, my friend, ...
- The Best Friend Now shall I walk Or shall I ride? "Ride",...
- The Rain I hear leaves drinking rain; I hear rich leaves on...
- In The Country This life is sweetest; in this wood I hear ...
William Henry Davies or W. H. Davies (3 July 1871 – 26 September 1940) was a Welsh poet and writer. Davies spent a significant part of his life as a tramp or hobo, in the United Kingdom and United States, but became one of the most popular poets of his time. The principal themes in his work are observations about life's hardships, the ways in which the human condition is reflected in nature, his own tramping adventures and the various characters he met. Davies is usually considered one of the Georgian Poets, although much of his work is atypical of the style and themes adopted by others of the genre.
The son of an iron moulder, Davies was born at 6, Portland Street in the Pillgwenlly ... more »
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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 see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this is if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
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'Sheep' by W H Davies, submitted by George Sullivan 12 Nov 13
WHEN I was once in Baltimore,
A man came up to me and cried,
“Come, I have eighteen hundred sheep,
And we will sail on Tuesday’s tide.
“If you will sail with me, young man,
I’ll pay you fifty shillings down;
These eighteen hundred sheep I take
From Baltimore to Glasgow town.”
He paid me fifty shillings down,
I sailed with eighteen hundred sheep;
We soon had cleared the harbour’s mouth,
We soon were in the salt sea deep.
The first night we were out at sea
Those sheep were quiet in their mind;
The second night they cried with fear —
They smelt no pastures in the wind,
They sniffed, poor things, for their green fields,
They cried so loud I could not sleep:
For fifty thousand shillings down
I would not sail again with sheep.
The man could see a century into the future. What a pitch perfect description of the Obama economic plan: Poor men need not go up so much as rich men should come down. Shared misery. Amen.
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