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W. H. Davies, joy, in English Clear filters

CheerfulW. H. Davies

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. 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;
DreamyW. H. Davies

Young Beauty

When at each door the ruffian winds Have laid a dying man to groan, And filled the air on winter nights With cries of infants left alone; And every thing that has a bed Will sigh for others that have none: On such a night, when bitter cold, Young Beauty, full of love thoughts sweet, Can redden in her looking-glass; With but one gown on, in bare feet, She from her own reflected charms Can feel the joy of summer's heat.
CheerfulW. H. Davies

Heigh Ho, the Rain

The Lark that in heaven dim Can match a rainy hour With his own music's shower, Can make me sing like him-- Heigh ho! The rain! Sing--when a Nightingale Pours forth her own sweet soul To hear dread thunder roll Into a tearful tale-- Heigh ho! The rain! Sing--when a Sparrow's seen Trying to lie at rest By pressing his warm breast To leaves so wet and green-- Heigh ho! The rain!
CheerfulW. H. 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 fields of flowers. Hail to you women fair, That make a show so rare In cloth as white as milk-- Be't calico or silk:
InspiredW. H. Davies

My Youth

My youth was my old age, Weary and long; It had too many cares To think of song; My moulting days all came When I was young. Now, in life's prime, my soul Comes out in flower; Late, as with Robin, comes My singing power; I was not born to joy Till this late hour.
CheerfulW. H. Davies

The East in Gold

Somehow this world is wonderful at times, As it has been from early morn in May ; Since first I heard the cock-a-doodle-do, Timekeeper on green farms — at break of day. Soon after that I heard ten thousand birds, Which made me think an angel brought a bin Of golden grain, and none was scattered yet — To rouse those birds to make that merry din. I could not sleep again, for such wild cries. And went out early into their green world ; And then I saw what set their little tongues To scream for joy — they saw the East in gold.

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