Mum's Favourite
The following poem is simple, and contains simple wisdom. It was my mother's favourite, and one that she learned while at school. As a child, she would begin to recite this poem whenever she saw any of us getting in a flap about whatever kids get into flaps about. It has been written onto my mind, and often I begin to think about the lines in this poem when there are just too many things coming at me.
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 if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
W. H. Davies 1871-1940
Born in southern Wales. Stowed away to America where he took to the road as a tramp, travelling through North America as well as other lands during the next thirty years. He wrote Autobiography of a Super-Tramp.
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 if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
W. H. Davies 1871-1940
Born in southern Wales. Stowed away to America where he took to the road as a tramp, travelling through North America as well as other lands during the next thirty years. He wrote Autobiography of a Super-Tramp.
posted by maggiesong at 5:30 PM
3 Comments:
Ah yes, I learnt it at school in London! I'd forgotten it was by Davies, thought it was John Clare. You should read Super-Tramp, wonderful book. He was a funny old boy. Thanks fro bringing back the memory!
Here is one of the little Davies poems I've always loved, notably for the last three lines.
All in June
A WEEK ago I had a fire
To warm my feet, my hands and face;
Cold winds, that never make a friend,
Crept in and out of every place.
Today the fields are rich in grass,
And buttercups in thousands grow;
I'll show the world where I have been--
With gold-dust seen on either shoe.
Till to my garden back I come,
Where bumble-bees for hours and hours
Sit on their soft, fat, velvet bums,
To wriggle out of hollow flower
laughing as I write this...yes, those last 3 lines of "All in June" do it! hehehehe He sounds like someone who had uqite a sense of humour.
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