The Collected Poems Of W H Davies 1928

Author : William Henry Davies
Publisher : Theclassics.Us
ISBN 13 : 9781230247823
Total Pages : 24 pages
Book Rating : 4.2/5 (478 download)

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Download or read book The Collected Poems of William H. Davies; with a Portrait written by William Henry Davies and published by Theclassics.Us. This book was released on 2013-09 with total page 24 pages. Available in PDF, EPUB and Kindle. Book excerpt: This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1916 edition. Excerpt: ...What is it that can keep thee set, From falling to the ground? The concentration of thy mind Supports thee in the air; As thou dost watch the small young birds, With such a deadly care. My mind has such a hawk as thou, It is an evil mood; It comes when there's no cause for grief, And on my joys doth brood. Then do I see my life in parts; The earth receives my bones, The common air absorbs my mind--It knows not flowers from stones. THE WEEPING CHILD WHAT makes thee weep so, little child, What cause hast thou for all this grief? When thou art old much cause may be, And tears will bring thee no relief. Thou dost not know thy mother yet, Thou'dst sleep on any bosom near; Thou dost not see a daughter dying, No son is coughing in thy ear. Thy father is a bearded man, Yet any bearded man could take Thee in his arms, and thou not know Which man would die for thy sweet sake. What makes thee weep then, little child, What cause hast thou for all this bother; Whose father could be any man, And any woman be thy mother? SEEKING BEAUTY COLD winds can never freeze, nor thunder sour The cup of cheer that Beauty draws for me Out of those azure Heavens and this green earth--I drink and drink, and thirst the more I see. To see the dewdrops thrill the blades of grass, Makes my whole body shake; for here's my choice Of either sun or shade, and both are green--A Chaffinch laughs in his melodious voice. The banks are stormed by Speedwell, that blue flower So like a little Heaven with one star out; I see an amber lake of Buttercups, And Hawthorn foams the hedges round about. The old Oak tree looks now so green and young, That even Swallows perch awhile and sing: This is that time of year, so sweet and warm, When Bats wait not for Stars ere they take wing. SEEKING...