Posts Tagged ‘W.H.Davies’


September 23, 2012

Just two poems by a Welsh man of letters W.H.Davies (1871-1940):


The Happy Child

I saw this day sweet flowers grow thick —

But not one like the child did pick.

I heard the packhounds in green park —

But no dog like the child heard bark.

I heard this day bird after bird —

But not one like the child has heard.

A hundred butterflies saw I —

But not one like the child saw fly.

I saw the horses roll in grass —

But no horse like the child saw pass.

My world this day has lovely been —

But not like what the child has seen.


Truly Great

MY walls outside must have some flowers,

My walls within must have some books;

A house that’s small; a garden large,

And in it leafy nooks.

A little gold that’s sure each week;

That comes not from my living kind,

But from a dead man in his grave,

Who cannot change his mind.

A lovely wife, and gentle too;

Contented that no eyes but mine

Can see her many charms, nor voice

To call her beauty fine.

Where she would in that stone cage live,

A self-made prisoner, with me;

While many a wild bird sang around,

On gate, on bush, on tree.

And she sometimes to answer them,

In her far sweeter voice than all;

Till birds, that loved to look on leaves,

Will doat on a stone wall.

With this small house, this garden large,

This little gold, this lovely mate,

With health in body, peace in heart–

Show me a man more great.



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