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Best Famous William Henry Davies Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous William Henry Davies poems. This is a select list of the best famous William Henry Davies poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous William Henry Davies poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of William Henry Davies poems.

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Written by William Henry Davies |

Rich Days

 Welcome to you rich Autumn days, 
Ere comes the cold, leaf-picking wind; 
When golden stocks are seen in fields, 
All standing arm-in-arm entwined; 
And gallons of sweet cider seen 
On trees in apples red and green.
With mellow pears that cheat our teeth, Which melt that tongues may suck them in; With blue-black damsons, yellow plums, Now sweet and soft from stone to skin; And woodnuts rich, to make us go Into the loneliest lanes we know.

Written by William Henry Davies |

the moon

 when the body of a woman dissolves
within are the three feared faces

the man who dares to trace them comes
to grief - but nothing personal is meant

waves and particles transvest - vulva
breast and womb are sexless doors 

beyond whose suck a sensual light
swings life round its little finger

Written by William Henry Davies |

Nell Barnes

 They lived apart for three long years, 
Bill Barnes and Nell his wife; 
He took his joy from other girls, 
She led a wicked life.
Yet ofttimes she would pass his shop, With some strange man awhile; And, looking, meet her husband's frown With her malicious smile.
Until one day, when passing there, She saw her man had gone; And when she saw the empty shop, She fell down with a moan.
And when she heard that he had gone Five thousand miles away; And that she's see his face no more, She sickened from that day.
To see his face was health and life, And when it was denied, She could not eat, and broke her heart -- It was for love she died.

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Written by William Henry Davies |

The Dark Hour

 And now, when merry winds do blow, 
And rain makes trees look fresh, 
An overpowering staleness holds 
This mortal flesh.
Though well I love to feel the rain, And be by winds well blown -- The mystery of mortal life Doth press me down.
And, In this mood, come now what will, Shine Rainbow, Cuckoo call; There is no thing in Heaven or Earth Can lift my soul.
I know not where this state comes from -- No cause for grief I know; The Earth around is fresh and green, Flowers near me grow.
I sit between two fair rose trees; Red roses on my right, And on my left side roses are A lovely white.
The little birds are full of joy, Lambs bleating all the day; The colt runs after the old mare, And children play.
And still there comes this dark, dark hour -- Which is not borne of Care; Into my heart it creeps before I am aware.

Written by William Henry Davies |

The Likeness

 When I came forth this morn I saw 
Quite twenty cloudlets in the air; 
And then I saw a flock of sheep, 
Which told me how these clouds came there.
That flock of sheep, on that green grass, Well might it lie so still and proud! Its likeness had been drawn in heaven, On a blue sky, in silvery cloud.
I gazed me up, I gazed me down, And swore, though good the likeness was, 'Twas a long way from justice done To such white wool, such sparkling grass.

Written by William Henry Davies |

The Sluggard

 A jar of cider and my pipe, 
In summer, under shady tree; 
A book by one that made his mind 
Live by its sweet simplicity: 
Then must I laugh at kings who sit 
In richest chambers, signing scrolls; 
And princes cheered in public ways, 
And stared at by a thousand fools.
Let me be free to wear my dreams, Like weeds in some mad maiden's hair, When she believes the earth has not Another maid so rich and fair; And proudly smiles on rich and poor, The queen of all fair women then: So I, dressen in my idle dreams, Will think myself the king of men.

Written by William Henry Davies |

The Moon

 Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou seemest most charming to my sight;
As I gaze upon thee in the sky so high,
A tear of joy does moisten mine eye.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the Esquimau in the night; For thou lettest him see to harpoon the fish, And with them he makes a dainty dish.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the fox in the night, And lettest him see to steal the grey goose away Out of the farm-yard from a stack of hay.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the farmer in the night, and makes his heart beat high with delight As he views his crops by the light in the night.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the eagle in the night, And lettest him see to devour his prey And carry it to his nest away.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the mariner in the night As he paces the deck alone, Thinking of his dear friends at home.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the weary traveller in the night; For thou lightest up the wayside around To him when he is homeward bound.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the lovers in the night As they walk through the shady groves alone, Making love to each other before they go home.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the poacher in the night; For thou lettest him see to set his snares To catch the rabbit and the hares.

Written by William Henry Davies |


 When I had money, money, O!
I knew no joy till I went poor;
For many a false man as a friend
Came knocking all day at my door.
Then felt I like a child that holds A trumpet that he must not blow Because a man is dead; I dared Not speak to let this false world know.
Much have I thought of life, and seen How poor men’s hearts are ever light; And how their wives do hum like bees About their work from morn till night.
So, when I hear these poor ones laugh, And see the rich ones coldly frown— Poor men, think I, need not go up So much as rich men should come down.
When I had money, money, O! My many friends proved all untrue; But now I have no money, O! My friends are real, though very few.

Written by William Henry Davies |

A Greeting

 Good morning, Life--and all 
Things glad and beautiful.
My pockets nothing hold, But he that owns the gold, The Sun, is my great friend-- His spending has no end.
Hail to the morning sky, Which bright clouds measure high; Hail to you birds whose throats Would number leaves by notes; Hail to you shady bowers, And you green field of flowers.
Hail to you women fair, That make a show so rare In cloth as white as milk-- Be't calico or silk: Good morning, Life--and all Things glad and beautiful.

Written by William Henry Davies |


 Now do I hear thee weep and groan, 
Who hath a comrade sunk at sea? 
Then quaff thee of my good old ale, 
And it will raise him up for thee; 
Thoul't think as little of him then 
As when he moved with living men.
If thou hast hopes to move the world, And every effort it doth fail, Then to thy side call Jack and Jim, And bid them drink with thee good ale; So may the world, that would not hear, Perish in hell with all your care.
One quart of good ale, and I Feel then what life immortal is: The brain is empty of all thought, The heart is brimming o'er with bliss; Time's first child, Life, doth live; but Death, The second, hath not yet his breath.
Give me a quart of good old ale, Am I a homeless man on earth? Nay, I want not your roof and quilt, I'll lie warm at the moon's cold hearth; No grumbling ghost to grudge my bed, His grave, ha! ha! holds up my head.

Written by William Henry Davies |

Come Let Us Find

 Come, let us find a cottage, love, 
That's green for half a mile around; 
To laugh at every grumbling bee, 
Whose sweetest blossom's not yet found.
Where many a bird shall sing for you, And in your garden build its nest: They'll sing for you as though their eggs Were lying in your breast, My love-- Were lying warm in your soft breast.
'Tis strange how men find time to hate, When life is all too short for love; But we, away from our own kind, A different life can live and prove.
And early on a summer's morn, As I go walking out with you, We'll help the sun with our warm breath To clear away the dew, My love, To clear away the morning dew.

Written by William Henry Davies |

In the Country

 This life is sweetest; in this wood 
I hear no children cry for food; 
I see no woman, white with care; 
No man, with muscled wasting here.
No doubt it is a selfish thing To fly from human suffering; No doubt he is a selfish man, Who shuns poor creatures, sad and wan.
But 'tis a wretched life to face Hunger in almost every place; Cursed with a hand that's empty, when The heart is full to help all men.
Can I admire the statue great, When living men starve at its feet! Can I admire the park's green tree, A roof for homeless misery!

Written by William Henry Davies |

Laughing Rose

 If I were gusty April now, 
How I would blow at laughing Rose; 
I'd make her ribbons slip their knots, 
And all her hair come loose.
If I were merry April now, How I would pelt her cheeks with showers; I'd make carnations, rich and warm, Of her vermillion flowers.
Since she will laugh in April's face No matter how he rains or blows -- Then O that I wild April were, To play with laughing Rose.

Written by William Henry Davies |

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, 
When that dear Sun is shining bright.
None but my friends shall have command Upon my time, my heart and hand; I'll rise from sleep to help a friend, But let no stranger orders send, Or hear my curses fast and thick, Which in his purse-proud throat would stick Like burrs.
If I cannot be free To do such work as pleases me, Near woodland pools and under trees, You'll get no work at all, for I Would rather live this life and die A beggar or a thief, than be A working slave with no days free.

Written by William Henry Davies |

The Rain

 I hear leaves drinking rain; 
I hear rich leaves on top 
Giving the poor beneath 
Drop after drop; 
'Tis a sweet noise to hear 
These green leaves drinking near.
And when the Sun comes out, After this Rain shall stop, A wondrous Light will fill Each dark, round drop; I hope the Sun shines bright; 'Twill be a lovely sight.