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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 |

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 |

The Villain

 While joy gave clouds the light of stars, 
That beamed wher'er they looked; 
And calves and lambs had tottering knees, 
Excited, while they sucked; 
While every bird enjoyed his song, 
Without one thought of harm or wrong-- 
I turned my head and saw the wind, 
Not far from where I stood, 
Dragging the corn by her golden hair, 
Into a dark and lonely wood.

Written by William Henry Davies |

The Best Friend

  Now shall I walk 
Or shall I ride? 
"Ride", Pleasure said; 
"Walk", Joy replied.
Now what shall I -- Stay home or roam? "Roam", Pleasure said; And Joy -- "stay home.
" Now shall I dance, Or sit for dreams? "Sit," answers Joy; "Dance," Pleasure screams.
Which of ye two Will kindest be? Pleasure laughed sweet, But Joy kissed me.

More great poems below...

Written by William Henry Davies |

Thunderstorms

 My mind has thunderstorms,
That brood for heavy hours:
Until they rain me words,
My thoughts are drooping flowers
And sulking, silent birds.
Yet come, dark thunderstorms, And brood your heavy hours; For when you rain me words, My thoughts are dancing flowers And joyful singing birds.

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 |

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 |

Aprils Charms

 When April scatters charms of primrose gold 
Among the copper leaves in thickets old, 
And singing skylarks from the meadows rise, 
To twinkle like black stars in sunny skies;

When I can hear the small woodpecker ring 
Time on a tree for all the birds that sing; 
And hear the pleasant cuckoo, loud and long -- 
The simple bird that thinks two notes a song;

When I can hear the woodland brook, that could 
Not drown a babe, with all his threatening mood; 
Upon these banks the violets make their home, 
And let a few small strawberry vlossoms come:

When I go forth on such a pleasant day, 
One breath outdoors takes all my cares away; 
It goes like heavy smoke, when flames take hold 
Of wood that's green and fill a grate with gold.

Written by 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.

Written by William Henry Davies |

The Kingfisher

 It was the Rainbow gave thee birth,
And left thee all her lovely hues;
And, as her mother’s name was Tears,
So runs it in my blood to choose
For haunts the lonely pools, and keep
In company with trees that weep.
Go you and, with such glorious hues, Live with proud peacocks in green parks; On lawns as smooth as shining glass, Let every feather show its marks; Get thee on boughs and clap thy wings Before the windows of proud kings.
Nay, lovely Bird, thou art not vain; Thou hast no proud, ambitious mind; I also love a quiet place That’s green, away from all mankind; A lonely pool, and let a tree Sigh with her bosom over me.

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 |

A Plain Life

 No idle gold -- since this fine sun, my friend, 
Is no mean miser, but doth freely spend.
No prescious stones -- since these green mornings show, Without a charge, their pearls where'er I go.
No lifeless books -- since birds with their sweet tongues Will read aloud to me their happier songs.
No painted scenes -- since clouds can change their skies A hundred times a day to please my eyes.
No headstrong wine -- since, when I drink, the spring Into my eager ears will softly sing.
No surplus clothes -- since every simple beast Can teach me to be happy with the least.

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.

Written by William Henry Davies |

Money

 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 |

The Moon

 The moon has a face like the clock in the hall; 
She shines on thieves on the garden wall, 
On streets and fields and harbour quays, 
And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.
The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse, The howling dog by the door of the house, The bat that lies in bed at noon, All love to be out by the light of the moon.
But all of the things that belong to the day Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way; And flowers and children close their eyes Till up in the morning the sun shall arise.

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