William Henry Davies

(3 July 1871 – 26 September 1940 / Monmouthshire / Wales)

William Henry Davies Poems

1. The Worms' Contempt 8/3/2015
2. The Old Oak Tree 1/28/2016
3. The Fog 3/5/2015
4. The Hawk 1/3/2003
5. The Hermit 1/3/2003
6. The Heap Of Rags 1/3/2003
7. The Child And The Mariner 1/3/2003
8. The Sluggard 1/3/2003
9. The Flood 1/3/2003
10. This Night 1/3/2003
11. Where We Differ 1/3/2003
12. The Boy 1/3/2003
13. The Bird Of Paradise 1/3/2003
14. The Likeness 1/3/2003
15. The Sleepers 1/3/2003
16. Truly Great 1/3/2003
17. When On A Summer's Morn 1/3/2003
18. The Dark Hour 1/3/2003
19. The Example 1/3/2003
20. Sweet Stay-At-Home 1/3/2003
21. Ale 1/3/2003
22. Seeking Beauty 1/3/2003
23. Nell Barnes 1/3/2003
24. Songs Of Joy 1/3/2003
25. Thunderstorms 1/3/2003
26. A Greeting 1/3/2003
27. The Mind's Liberty 1/3/2003
28. The Happy Child 1/3/2003
29. The Moon 1/3/2003
30. Charms 1/3/2003
31. In May 1/3/2003
32. Sadness And Joy 1/3/2003
33. Days Too Short 1/3/2003
34. All In June 1/3/2003
35. The Kingfisher 1/3/2003
36. Come, Let Us Find 1/3/2003
37. A Great Time 1/3/2003
38. No Master 1/3/2003
39. Laughing Rose 1/3/2003
40. In The Country 1/3/2003

Comments about William Henry Davies

  • Shikha (11/17/2017 8:45:00 AM)

    Thank you for this poem . It is very beautiful

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  • M.yasir (11/13/2017 5:09:00 AM)

    African jahil Fuck

  • Dr Dillip K Swain (10/9/2017 4:36:00 AM)

    Leisure by W. H. Davies...one of my favorite poems, , ! Such a great write..! ! I love reading it again and again..! ! Davies is a great poet to be remembered for all time to come

  • George Sullivan (11/12/2013 4:18:00 PM)

    '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.

  • Lefty Profane (10/29/2012 4:42:00 PM)

    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.

  • George Sullivan (1/22/2011 12:05:00 PM)

    Can the poem 'Sheep' by W H Davies be published on this site?

Best Poem of William Henry Davies

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.

Read the full of Leisure

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 change my mood,
When I go nutting in the wood;
No man to pluck my sleeve and say --
I want thy labour for this day;
No man to keep me out of sight,

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