William Henry Davies: Quotes

Robin on a leafless bough,
Lord in Heaven, how he sings!
Now cold Winter’s cruel Wind
Makes playmates of withered things.

How he sings for joy this morn !
How his breast doth pant and glow!
Look you how he stands and sings,
Half-way up his legs in snow!

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.

I sit beneath your leaves, old oak,
⁠You mighty one of all the trees;
[…]
Knowing thou hast not known such shame,
⁠And only storms have come thy way,
Methinks I could in comfort spend
⁠My summer with thee, day by day.

To lie by day in thy green shade,
⁠And in thy hollow rest at night;
And through the open doorway see
⁠The stars turn over leaves of light.

Is it not fine to walk in spring,
When leaves are born, and hear birds sing?
And when they lose their singing powers,
In summer, watch the bees at flowers?
Is it not fine, when summer’s past,
To have the leaves, no longer fast,
Biting my heel where’er I go,
Or dancing lightly on my toe?
Now winter’s here and rivers freeze;
As I walk out I see the trees,
Wherein the pretty squirrels sleep,
All standing in the snow so deep:
And every twig, however small,
Is blossomed white and beautiful.
Then welcome, winter, with thy power
To make this tree a big white flower;
To make this tree a lovely sight,
With fifty brown arms draped in white,
While thousands of small fingers show
In soft white gloves of purest snow.

When April scatters coins 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 blossoms 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.