W. H. Davies

“ Such, Nature, is thy charm and power— Since I have made the Muse my wife— To keep me from the harlot's arms, And save me from a drunkard's life.
HIDDEN LOVE The bird of Fortune sings when free, But captured, soon grows dumb; and we, To hear his fast declining powers, Must soon forget that he is ours. So, when I win that maid, no doubt Love soon will seem to be half out; Like blighted leaves drooped to the ground, Whose roots are still untouched and sound, So will our love's root still be strong When others think the leaves go wrong. ”

“ I find thee, Joy, in hours With clouds, and birds, and flowers— Thou dost not charge one penny. Joy, I have found thee!
THE OLD OAK TREE I sit beneath your leaves, old oak, You mighty one of all the trees; Within whose hollow trunk a man Could stable his big horse with ease. I see your knuckles hard and strong, But have no fear they'll come to blows; Your life is long, and mine is short, But which has known the greater woes? Thou has not seen starved women here, Or man gone mad because ill-fed— Who stares at stones in city streets, Mistaking them for hunks of bread. ”

“ Man is a bird: In swiftest speed he burns, With twist and dive and leap; A bird whose sudden turns Can drive the frightened sheep. Man is a bird: Over the mountain high, Whose head is in the skies, Cut from its shoulder by A cloud—the bird-man flies. Man is a bird: Eagles from mountain crag Swooped down to prove his worth; But now they rise to drag Him down from Heaven to earth!
WINTER'S BEAUTY Is it not fine to walk in spring, When leaves are born, and hear birds sing? And when they lose their singing powers, In summer, watch the bees at flowers? ”

“ A happy life is this. I walk And hear more birds than people talk; I hear the birds that sing unseen, On boughs now smothered with leaves green; I sit and watch the swallows there, Making a circus in the air; That speed around straight-going crow, As sharks around a ship can go; I hear the skylark out of sight, Hid perfectly in all this light. The dappled cows in fields I pass, Up to their bosoms in deep grass; Old oak trees, with their bowels gone, I see with spring's green finery on. I watch the buzzing bees for hours, To see them rush at laughing flowers— And butterflies that lie so still. ”

“ When every leafy tree doth hold A loving heart that beats with mine: Now, when the Brook has cresses green, As well as stones, to check his pace; And, if the Owl appears, he's forced By small birds to some hiding-place: Then, like red Robin in the spring, I shun those haunts where men are found; My house holds little joy until Leaves fall and birds can make no sound; Let none invade that wilderness Into whose dark green depths I go— Save some fine lady, all in white, Comes like a pillar of pure snow. ”

“ And thou shalt say, each time I go— How long, my Love, ere thou'lt come back?
NIGHT WANDERERS They hear the bell of midnight toll, And shiver in their flesh and soul; They lie on hard, cold wood or stone, Iron, and ache in every bone; They hate the night: they see no eyes Of loved ones in the starlit skies. They see the cold, dark water near; They dare not take long looks for fear They'll fall like those poor birds that see A snake's eyes staring at their tree. ”

“ Seek me where The strange oak tree is, that can bear One white-leaved branch among the green— Which many a woodman has not seen. If you would find me, go where cows And sheep stand under shady boughs; Where furious squirrels shake a tree As though they'd like to bury me Under a leaf shower heavy, and I laugh at them for spite, and stand. Seek me no more in human ways— Who am a coward since those days My mind was burned by poor men's eyes, And frozen by poor women's sighs. ”

“ Where one man does the work of four, And dies worn out before his hour; While some seek work in vain, and grief Doth make their fretful lives as brief. Where ragged men are seen to wait For charity that's small and late; While others haunt in idle leisure, Theatre doors to pay for pleasure. No more I'll walk those crowded places And take hot dreams from harlots' faces; I'll know no more those passions' dreams, While musing near these quiet streams; That biting state of savage lust Which, true love absent, burns to dust. Gold's rattle shall not rob my ears Of this sweet music of the spheres. ”

“ I stand on arches whose dark stones Can turn the wind's soft sighs to groans. I hear the Cuckoo when first he Makes this green world's discovery, And re-creates it in my mind, Proving my eyes were growing blind. I see the rainbow come forth clear And wave her coloured scarf to cheer The sun long swallowed by a flood— So do I live in lane and wood. Let me look forward to each spring As eager as the birds that sing; And feed my eyes on spring's young flowers Before the bees by many hours, My heart to leap and sing her praise Before the birds by many days. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Will flowers smile less For rags than silk? Are birds less dumb For tramp than squire? Sweet birds, I come.
THE TWO LIVES Now how could I, with gold to spare, Who know the harlot's arms, and wine, Sit in this green field all alone, If Nature was not truly mine? That Pleasure life wakes stale at morn, From heavy sleep that no rest brings: This life of quiet joy wakes fresh, And claps its wings at morn, and sings. ”

“ They're followed, watched and spied, No liberty they know; Some eye will watch them still, No matter where they go. When in green lanes I muse, Alone, and hear birds sing, God's pity then, say I, On some poor king.
LOVE AND THE MUSE My back is turned on Spring and all her flowers, The birds no longer charm from tree to tree; The cuckoo had his home in this green world Ten days before his voice was heard by me. Had I an answer from a dear one's lips, My love of life would soon regain its power; And suckle my sweet dreams, that tug my heart, And whimper to be nourished every hour. ”

“ Sweet birds that carry richer stores Than men can dream of, when they prize Fine silks and pearls for merchandise; And dream of ships that take the floods Sunk to their decks with such vain goods; Bringing that traitor silk, whose soft Smooth tongue persuades the poor too oft From sweet content; and pearls, whose fires Make ashes of our best desires. For I have heard the sighs and whines Of rich men that drink costly wines And eat the best of fish and fowl; Men that have plenty, and still growl Because they cannot like kings live— "Alas!" ”

“ And you shall hear a song as sweet As when green leaves and raindrops meet. I'll hear the Nightingale's fine mood, Rattling with thunder in the wood, Made bolder by each mighty crash; Who drives her notes with every flash Of lightning through the summer's night. No more I'll walk in that pale light That shows the homeless man awake, Ragged and cold; harlot and rake, That have their hearts in rags, and die Before that poor wretch they pass by. Nay, I have found a life so fine That every moment seems divine; By shunning all those pleasures full, That bring repentance cold and dull. ”

“ This life is jolly, O! Power has his fawning slaves, But if he rests his mind, Those wretches turn bold knaves. Fame's field is full of flowers, It dazzles as we pass, But men who walk that field Starve for the common grass. This life is jolly, O! Let others know they die, Enough to know I live, And make no question why; I care not whence I came, Nor whither I shall go; Let others think of these— This life is jolly, O!
THE FOG I saw the fog grow thick, Which soon made blind my ken; It made tall men of boys, And giants of tall men. ”

“ They have no beds to warm their limbs, But with those limbs must warm cold stones; Those poor weak men, whose coughs and ailings Force them to tear at iron railings. Those helpless men that starve, my pity; Whose waking day is never done; Who, save for their own shadows, are Doomed night and day to walk alone: They know no bright face but the sun's, So cold and dark are human ones.
AN EARLY LOVE Ah, sweet young blood, that makes the heart So full of joy, and light, That dying children dance with it From early morn till night. My dreams were blossoms, hers the fruit, She was my dearest care ”

“ Now like a singing bird my feet Touch earth, and I must drink and eat. Welcome to all men: I'll not care What any of my fellows wear; We'll not let cloth divide our souls, They'll swim stark naked in the bowls. ”

“ For with me all the time I keep Sweet dreams that, do I wake or sleep, Shed on me still their kindly beams; Aye, I am richer with my dreams Than banks where men dull-eyed and cold Without a tremble shovel gold. ”

“ Millions all cramped together in one hive, Storing, methought, more bitter stuff than sweet. The air was foul and stale; from their green homes Young blood had brought its fresh and rosy cheeks, Which soon turned colour, like blue streams in flood. Aye, solitude, black solitude indeed, To meet a million souls and know not one; This world must soon grow stale to one compelled To look all day at faces strange and cold. ”

“ Where men are drunk in every street; Men full of poison, like those flies That still attack the horses' eyes. Where some men freeze for want of cloth, While others show their jewels' worth And dress in satin, fur or silk; Where fine rich ladies wash in milk, While starving mothers have no food To make them fit in flesh and blood; So that their watery breasts can give Their babies milk and make them live. ”

“ THE LONELY DREAMER He lives his lonely life, and when he dies A thousand hearts maybe will utter sighs; Because they liked his songs, and now their bird Sleeps with his head beneath his wing, unheard. ”

“ I see great houses on the hill, With shining roofs; and there shines one, It seems that heaven has dropped the sun. I see yon cloudlet sail the skies, Racing with clouds ten times its size. I walk green pathways, where love waits To talk in whispers at old gates ”

“ For when you rain me words, My thoughts are dancing flowers And joyful singing birds.
STRONG MOMENTS Sometimes I hear fine ladies sing, Sometimes I smoke and drink with men; Sometimes I play at games of cards— Judge me to be no strong man then. The strongest moment of my life Is when I think about the poor; When, like a spring that rain has fed, My pity rises more and more. The flower that loves the warmth and light, Has all its mornings bathed in dew ”

“ DREAM TRAGEDIES Thou art not always kind, O sleep: What awful secrets them dost keep In store, and ofttimes make us know; What hero has not fallen low In sleep before a monster grim, And whined for mercy unto him ”

“ RETURN TO NATURE My song is of that city which Has men too poor and men too rich; Where some are sick, too richly fed, While others take the sparrows' bread: Where some have beds to warm their bones, While others sleep on hard, cold stones That suck away their bodies' heat. ”

“ Since I have heard those rich ones sigh, Made poor by their desires so high, I cherish more a simple mind; That I am well content to find My pictures in the open air, And let my walls and floors go bare; That I with lovely things can fill My rooms, whene'er sweet Fancy will. ”

“ Is it not fine, when summer's past, To have the leaves, no longer fast, Biting my heel where'er I go, Or dancing lightly on my toe? Now winter's here and rivers freeze; As I walk out I see the trees, Wherein the pretty squirrels sleep, All standing in the snow so deep: And every twig, however small, Is blossomed white and beautiful. ”

“ Oft didst thou think thy mind would flower Too late for good, as some bruised tree That blooms in Autumn, and we see Fruit not worth picking, hard and sour. Some poets feign their wounds and scars. If they had known real suffering hours, They'd show, in place of Fancy's flowers, More of Imagination's stars. So, if thy fruits of Poesy Are rich, it is at this dear cost— That they were nipt by Sorrow's frost, In nights of homeless misery.
THE BIRD-MAN Man is a bird: He rises on fine wings Into the Heaven's clear light ”

“ We'll count no change when we spend gold; This is no time to save, but spend, To give for nothing, not to lend. Let foes make friends: let them forget The mischief-making dead that fret The living with complaint like this— "He wronged us once, hate him and his." ”

“ Watching the stately deer close by, That in a great deep hollow lie Shaking their tails with all the ease That lambs can. First, look for the trees, Then, if you seek me, find me quick. Seek me no more where men are thick, But in green lanes where I can walk A mile, and still no human folk Tread on my shadow. ”

“ Heigh ho for gossip then, and common sighs— And let his death bring tears in no one's eyes.
CHRISTMAS Christmas has come, let's eat and drink— This is no time to sit and think; Farewell to study, books and pen, And welcome to all kinds of men. Let all men now get rid of care, And what one has let others share; Then 'tis the same, no matter which Of us is poor, or which is rich. Let each man have enough this day, Since those that can are glad to pay; There's nothing now too rich or good For poor men, not the King's own food. ”