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Foliage by Davies, William H., 1871-1940
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A word from our supporters: File extension MID | E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Tonya Allen, and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders FOLIAGE VARIOUS POEMS BY WILLIAM H. DAVIES 1913 CONTENTS THUNDERSTORMS STRONG MOMENTS A GREETING SWEET STAY-AT-HOME THE STARVED A MAY MORNING THE LONELY DREAMER CHRISTMAS LAUGHING ROSE SEEKING JOY THE OLD OAK TREE POOR KINGS LOVE AND THE MUST MY YOUTH SMILES MAD POLL JOY SUPREME FRANCIS THOMPSON THE BIRD-MAN WINTER'S BEAUTY THE CHURCH ORGAN HEIGH HO, THE RAIN LOVE'S INSPIRATION NIGHT WANDERERS YOUNG BEAUTY WHO I KNOW SWEET BIRDS, I COME THE TWO LIVES HIDDEN LOVE LIFE IS JOLLY THE FOG A WOMAN'S CHARMS DREAMS OF THE SEA THE WONDER-MAKER THE HELPLESS AN EARLY LOVE DREAM TRAGEDIES CHILDREN AT PLAY WHEN THE CUCKOO SINGS RETURN TO NATURE A STRANGE CITY 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. STRONG MOMENTS Sometimes I hear fine ladies sing, Sometimes I smoke and drink with men; Sometimes I play at games of cards-- Judge me to be no strong man then. The strongest moment of my life Is when I think about the poor; When, like a spring that rain has fed, My pity rises more and more. The flower that loves the warmth and light, Has all its mornings bathed in dew; My heart has moments wet with tears, My weakness is they are so few. 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: Good morning, Life--and all Things glad and beautiful. SWEET STAY-AT-HOME Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Well-content, Thou knowest of no strange continent: Thou hast not felt thy bosom keep A gentle motion with the deep; Thou hast not sailed in Indian seas, Where scent comes forth in every breeze. Thou hast not seen the rich grape grow For miles, as far as eyes can go; Thou hast not seen a summer's night When maids could sew by a worm's light; Nor the North Sea in spring send out Bright hues that like birds flit about In solid cages of white ice-- Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Love-one-place. Thou hast not seen black fingers pick White cotton when the bloom is thick, Nor heard black throats in harmony; Nor hast thou sat on stones that lie Flat on the earth, that once did rise To hide proud kings from common eyes, Thou hast not seen plains full of bloom Where green things had such little room They pleased the eye like fairer flowers-- Sweet Stay-at-Home, all these long hours. Sweet Well-content, sweet Love-one-place, Sweet, simple maid, bless thy dear face; For thou hast made more homely stuff Nurture thy gentle self enough; I love thee for a heart that's kind-- Not for the knowledge in thy mind. THE STARVED My little Lamb, what is amiss? If there was milk in mother's kiss, You would not look as white as this. The wolf of Hunger, it is he That takes away thy milk from me, And I have much to do for thee. |