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 Hermit 1/3/2003
5. The Heap Of Rags 1/3/2003
6. The Hawk 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. The Boy 1/3/2003
12. The Bird Of Paradise 1/3/2003
13. The Likeness 1/3/2003
14. Ale 1/3/2003
15. Where We Differ 1/3/2003
16. When On A Summer's Morn 1/3/2003
17. The Dark Hour 1/3/2003
18. Truly Great 1/3/2003
19. Charms 1/3/2003
20. The Mind's Liberty 1/3/2003
21. Seeking Beauty 1/3/2003
22. In May 1/3/2003
23. Days Too Short 1/3/2003
24. The Happy Child 1/3/2003
25. All In June 1/3/2003
26. Sweet Stay-At-Home 1/3/2003
27. The Moon 1/3/2003
28. The Example 1/3/2003
29. A Greeting 1/3/2003
30. Come, Let Us Find 1/3/2003
31. The Sleepers 1/3/2003
32. Nell Barnes 1/3/2003
33. Thunderstorms 1/3/2003
34. Sadness And Joy 1/3/2003
35. In The Country 1/3/2003
36. A Fleeting Passion 1/3/2003
37. Laughing Rose 1/3/2003
38. No Master 1/3/2003
39. The Villain 1/3/2003
40. April's Charms 1/3/2003

Comments about William Henry Davies

  • Cliff Watkins (7/12/2018 3:16:00 AM)

    In 1939, the year of my birth, a nearby Primary School in Beckenham, Kent performed a choral play called Rainbows by Janet Percy. The Prologue was RAPTURES by W. H. Davies. Is it possible, please, foe me to see the words?
    Thank you.

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  • Richard Evans (1/6/2018 12:55:00 AM)

    Still hard to comprehend a Newport boy could have travelled and experienced all as he did. Then to write it so simply and enigmatically, ok so beautifully. Thanks Davies, from Evans

  • Shikha (11/17/2017 8:45:00 AM)

    Thank you for this poem . It is very beautiful

  • M.yasir (11/13/2017 5:09:00 AM)

    African jahil Fuck

  • Dr Dillip K Swain 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


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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