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THE BIRD OF PARADISE
"I
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
POETRY
The Soul's Destroyer and other Poems (1906)
New Poems (1907)
Nature Poems and Others (1908)
Farewell to Poesy (1910)
Songs of Joy (191 1)
Foliage (1913)
PROSE
The Autobiography of a Supertramp (1907)
Beggars (1909)
A Weak Woman (191 1)
The True Traveller (19 12)
Nature (1914)
THE
BIRD OF PARADISE
AND OTHER POEMS
BY
W. H. DAVIES
METHUEN & GO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
First Published in 1914
/5f
NOTE
For permission to reprint these poems
the author thanks the editors of the
following magazines : The Nation, The New
Statesman, The Westminster Gazette, The
New Weekly, and Poetry and Drama.
861
Contents
t
Page
When I am Old . . . .13
Two Spring Songs .
15
The Best Friend
17
Heaven
19
Sweet Night
20
Early Spring
21
The Mind's Liberty .
2 3
The Two Spirits
2 4
When on a Summer's Morn
26
Again I Sing
27
The Dumb World .
29
The Weeping Child .
32
The Den
34
This World .
3<5
IO
The Bird of Paradise
A Fleeting Passion .
Plants and Men
A Midsummer Night's Storm
The Dreaming Boy .
The Hawk .
The Signs
The Long Sleep
The Moon .
A Great Time
Her Absence
The Wanderer
The Child and the Man
The Black Cloud
When I in Praise
Sweet Child
In a Garden .
The Life Divine
Love's Youth
Rich Days
Contents
Near a Quiet Stream
The Child Chatters
The Hermit .
In the End .
The Emigrant
The Collier's Wife
Stars
Come, Let Me Close
On the Mountain
Infancy
In Silent Groves
The Rev. Ebenezer Paul
Nell Barnes .
The Bird of Paradise
I I
Page
67
68
70
72
73
75
76
78
79
80
81
82
83
85
The Bird of Paradise
When I am Old
WHEN I am old, and it is spring,
And joy leaps dancing, wild and free,
Clear out of every living thing,
While I command no ecstasy ;
And to translate the songs of birds
Will be beyond my power in words :
When Time serves notice on my Muse
To leave at last her lyric home,
With no extension of her lease —
Then to the blackest pits I come,
To see by day the stars' cold light,
And in my coffin sleep at night.
14 When I am Old
For when these little songs shall fail,
These happy notes that to the world
Are puny mole-hills, nothing more,
That unto me are Alps of gold —
That toad's dark life must be my own,
Buried alive inside a stone.
Two Spring Songs 15
Two Spring Songs
From France
WHAT little bird is this that sings ?
I wonder if he comes from France :
Lord, how he sings, and makes our leaves
In happy England dance !
What's in his song ; is it sweet laughter,
Or anger that he crossed the water ?
A song of roses, apples, corn,
Seen here in England — not his home ;
Or lilies, olives, and the grapes
In France, across the foam ?
No matter, little friend from France —
Sing till our leaves in England dance.
Starers
The small birds peck at apples ripe,
And twice as big as them in size ;
1 6 Two Spring Songs
The wind doth make the hedge's leaves
Shiver with joy, until it dies.
Young Gossamer is in the field ;
He holds the flowers with silver line —
They nod their heads as horses should.
And there are forty dappled kine
As fat as snails in deep, dark wells,
And just as shiny too — as they
Lie in a green field, motionless,
And every one now stares my way.
I must become a starer too :
I stare at them as urchins can
When seamen talk, or any child
That sees by chance its first black man.
I stare at drops of rain that shine
Like glow-worms, when the time is noon ;
I stare at little stars in Heaven,
That try to stare like the big Moon.
The Best Friend 17
The Best Friend
NOW shall I walk,
Or shall I ride ?
" Ride," Pleasure said ;
" Walk," Joy replied.
Now what shall I —
Stay home or roam ?
" Roam," Pleasure said ;
And Joy — " Stay home."
Now shall I dance,
Or sit for dreams ?
" Sit," answers Joy ;
" Dance," Pleasure screams.
2
18 The Best Friend
Which of ye two
Will kindest be ?
Pleasure laughed sweet,
But Joy kissed me.
Heaven 19
Heaven
THAT paradise the Arab dreams,
Is far less sand and more fresh streams.
The only heaven an Indian knows,
Is hunting deer and buffaloes.
The Yankee heaven — to bring Fame forth
By some freak show of what he's worth.
The heaven that fills an English heart,
Is Union Jacks in every part.
The Irish heaven is heaven of old,
When Satan cracked skulls manifold.
The Scotsman has his heaven to come —
To argue his Creator dumb.
The "Welshman's heaven is singing airs —
No matter who feels sick and swears.
2o Sweet Night
Sweet Night
SWEET Night, that like an angel comes
To take this bright and happy Day,
A lover gives his grateful heart,
For starlight on his way.
Lord, how my heart goes forth in joy,
How my brave spirits soar and rise !
To think how Love's advancing lips
Will shut Love's joyful eyes.
What loving looks of serious care,
What tender sweetness she will give !
Such love a mother gives that child
She fears she will outlive.
Early Spring 21
Early Spring
HOW sweet this morning air in spring,
When tender is the grass, and wet
I see some little leaves have not
Outgrown their curly childhood yet ;
And cows no longer hurry home,
However sweet a voice cries " Come."
Here, with green Nature all around,
While that fine bird the skylark sings ;
Who now in such a passion is,
He flies by it, and not his wings j
And many a blackbird, thrush and sparrow
Sing sweeter songs than I may borrow.
22 Early Spring
These watery swamps and thickets wild —
Called Nature's slums — to me are more
Than any courts where fountains play,
And men-at-arms guard every door ;
For I could sit down here alone,
And count the oak trees one by one.
The Mind's Liberty 23
The Mind's Liberty
THE mind, with its own eyes and ears,
May for these others have no care ;
No matter where this body is,
The mind is free to go elsewhere.
My mind can be a sailor, when
This body's still confined to land ;
And turn these mortals into trees,
That walk in Fleet Street or the Strand.
So, when I'm passing Charing Cross,
Where porters work both night and day,
I ofttimes hear sweet Malpas Brook,
That flows thrice fifty miles away.
And when I'm passing near St. Paul's,
I see, beyond the dome and crowd,
Twm Barium, that green pap in Gwent,
With its dark nipple in a cloud.
24 The Two Spirits
The Two Spirits
MY friend, mad drunk, struck, at his foe,
When 1 received the cruel blow ;
No sooner saw my broken tooth,
He wept, and wiped my bloody mouth.
Then came a message from his wife —
" Come now, and see his last of life."
But when I reached his room and bed,
The man was lying cold and dead.
Now when I stood beside his bier,
I felt two spirits standing near ;
The one said — " Look : his knuckles show
The toothmark where he struck a blow."
The Two Spirits 25
" Think not of that," the other said —
" Have pity on him cold and dead."
" You took no vengeance for that blow,"
The first one said — " it's too late now ! "
Shame on my soul for vengeance nursed,
That, laughing in my heart, I cursed
The hand, now dead, that broke my tooth —
Although it wiped my bloody mouth.
26 When on a Summer's Morn
When on a Summer's Morn
WHEN on a summer's morn I wake,
And open my two eyes,
Out to the clear, born-singing rills
My bird-like spirit flies.
To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush,
Or any bird in song ;
And common leaves that hum all day,
"Without a throat or tongue.
And when Time strikes the hour for sleep,
Back in my room alone,
My heart has many a sweet bird's song —
And one that's all my own.
Again I Sing 27
Again I Sing
AGAIN I sing of thee, sweet youth :
l Thy hours are minutes, they can hear
No challenge from stern sentinels,
To wake their fear ;
You love the flowers, but feel no grief
Because their pretty lives are brief.
Nature sets no conspirators
Of withered things to lie in wait
And show thee with their faded charms
Thy coming state ;
No dread example she sets thee
In dead things falling off a tree.
28 Again I Sing
Thou seest no bones inside the earth,
Thy sweat comes not of toil, but play ;
On thy red blossom no pale worm
Can work decay •,
No toad can muddy thy clear spring —
Time is thy subject, thou his king !
The Dumb World 29
The Dumb World
SHALL I collect for this world's eyes
My sins in birds or butterflies ;
Shall I keep useless things around,
For ornament, and sell my hound ?
When I give poor dumb things my cares,
Let all men know I've said my prayers.
That man who sells for gain his hound
May he be robbed and beaten found ;
May men that shoot sweet singing-birds
Be robbed of power to utter words ;
May men that torture things alive
Live for a hundred years, and have
Their wretched bodies stabbed with pains,
Until their toe-nails pierce their brains.
My love for dumb things is intense :
I cannot walk beside a fence
The Dumb World
And see the horses in a row,
Staring, but I must say Hallo !
And when I see two horses lean
Across a gate that stands between
Them as they kiss each other there —
For no man's company I care.
I hate to leave the calf when he,
Licking his tongue, still follows me,
To lick again at my old clothes.
A lamb that lets me stroke his nose
Can make me feel a battle won
That had ten soldiers to my one.
I'd rather see the sheep and kine
Than any troops that march in line,
With all their colours in the light,
Helmets and scabbards shining bright.
When I give robins cheerful words,
I'm pleased to see those grateful birds
Try on their little feet to dance,
And eyeing me with consequence.
The Dumb World 31
Had I at home a talking bird
That would repeat a wicked word,
I would not care a fig or apple
For my own hymns in church or chapel.
Had I a monkey that would drink
My ale and, when I sit to think,
Would mock me with his scornful cries —
I, thinking less, would grow more wise ;
With him I'd sit and drink and play,
And save the world this worthless lay.
32 The Weeping Child
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.
The Weeping Child 33
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 ?
34
The Den
The Den
THEY sleep together in one den,
Ten in a row — ten beds, ten men ;
Three dying men are in that room,
Whose coughs at night will soon become
Death's rattle : drunkards in bed
Sound as they worried things half dead.
Jim Lasker dreamt, when in that den,
He saw ten beds that had ten men ;
One sleeper in a sack was sewn,
With nothing of his features shown :
Jim felt that face he could not see —
" This face is mine, I'm dead," said he.
The Den 35
" James Lasker, you're the last to rise ;
Wake up, wake up ! " the master cries.
" You've not paid me for daylight's sleep —
Suppose you had some kids to keep ?
Ah, now I see : this man of mine
Came here to die, not sleep — the swine ! "
3 6 This World
This World
WHO dreams a sweeter life than this,
To stand and stare, when at this fenc
Back into those dumb creatures' eyes,
And think we have their innocence —
Our looks as open as the skies.
Lambs with their legs and noses black,
Whose woolly necks, so soft and white,
Can take away the children's breath ;
Who'd strangle them in their delight —
And calves they'd worry half to death.
This world's too full of those dull men
Who ne'er advance from that first state
Which opens mouth before the eye ;
Who, when they think of dumb things, rate
Them by the body's gluttony.
A Fleeting Passion 37
A Fleeting Passion
rHOU shalt not laugh, thou shalt not romp,
Let's grimly kiss with bated breath ;
is quietly and solemnly
As Life when it is kissing Death,
low in the silence of the grave,
My hand is squeezing that soft breast ;
Vhile thou dost in such passion lie,
It mocks me with its look of rest.
iut when the morning comes at last,
And we must part, our passions cold,
'ou'll think of some new feather, scarf
To buy with my small piece of gold ;
ind I'll be dreaming of green lanes,
Where little things with beating hearts
[old shining eyes between the leaves,
Till men with horses pass, and carts.
38 Plants and Men
Plants and Men
YOU berries once,
In early hours,
Were pretty buds,
And then fair flowers.
Drop, drop at once,
Your life is done •,
You cannot feel
The dew or sun.
We are the same,
First buds, then flowers ;
Hard berries then,
In our last hours.
Plants and Men 39
Sweet buds, fair flowers,
Hard berries then —
Such is the life
Of plants and men.
40 A Midsummer Night's Storm
A Midsummer Night's Storm
NIGHT, Lightning, Thunder, Rain.
I see black Night
Open her lips ;
Her teeth gleam bright,
A moment seen ;
Then comes rich laughter ;
And happy tears,
That follow after,
Fall on the bosoms
Of birds and blossoms.
The Dreaming Boy 41
The Dreaming Boy
SWEET are thy dreams, thou happy, careless boy;
Thou know'st the taste of immortality ;
No weary limbs can rest upon thy heart ;
Sleep has no care to ease thee of at night ;
The same move shuts together eye and mind,
And in the morning one move opens both.
Life lies before thee, hardly stepped on yet,
Like a green prairie, fresh, and full of flowers.
Life lies before thee for experiment,
Until old age comes, whose sad eyes can trace
A better path he missed, with fairer flowers,
Which other men have walked in misery.
Thou hast no knowledge of a life of toil,
How hard Necessity destroys our dreams,
42 The Dreaming Boy
And castles-in-the-air must pay him tithes
So heavy that no tenants keep them long.
To thee the world is still unknown and strange ;
Still full of wild romance, as in those days
Ere England launched her forests on the sea.
Thou wilt discover in far mountains caves
Deserted, lamps left burning for thy feet,
And comfort in them more than kings are worth.
Aye, many a gate will open at thy call,
And wise men will come forth to welcome thee,
And bells will ring for pleasure in thy ear.
Great monsters in dark woods, with mighty mouths
That swallow their own faces when they yawn,
And mountain bears that carry on their backs
Rough, shaggy coats whose price compares with
silk-
Will fall by thy strong, right, all-conquering arm.
And who can stop thee ; who can turn thee back ?
Not giants, though they stand full twenty feet,
And sit too tall for common men to stand.
The Dreaming Boy 43
Oh, tKat sweet magic in thee, happy boy !
It makes a golden world for all things young.
Thou with an iron ring, a piece of bone,
A rusty blade, or half a yard of rope,
Art richer than a man with mines and ships.
The child's fresh mind makes honey out of soot,
Sweeter than age can make on banks of flowers ;
He needs but cross a bridge, that happy boy,
And he can breathe the air of a new world.
Sweet children, with your trust in this hard life —
Like little birds that ope their mouths for food
From hands that come to cage them till they die.
44 The Hawk
The Hawk
THOU dost not fly, thou art not perched,
The air is all around :
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 Signs 45
The Signs
FLOWERS white and red my garden has ;
So, when I miss her from my place,
I see a colour through the leaves,
And think it is her frock or face.
Here, while I sit and read old tales,
She comes to knit with needles bright ;
She shows, by how she stabs with them,
How she would punish a false knight.
And though she speaks not any word,
I see, by how she smooths the cloth —
That's stretched across from knee to knee —
She binds his wounds who bleeds for truth.
46 The Long Sleep
The Long Sleep
THEY press the pillow on their mother's face
and head ;
They take her by the arm to pull her out of
bed—
And still that mother sleeps and will not wake and
play.
They laugh and pull, and still their mother will
not heed ;
The pillow pressed, and yet no breath she seems to
need —
For still their mother sleeps and will not wake and
play.
The Long Sleep 47
In pity for those babes a neighbour's head is bowed ;
In pity for her grief those children sob aloud —
And more than ever wish their mother'd wake and
play.
48 The Moon
The Moon
THY beauty haunts me heart and soul,
Oh thou fair Moon, so close and bright ;
Thy beauty makes me like the child,
That cries aloud to own thy light :
The little child that lifts each arm,
To press thee to her bosom warm.
Though there are birds that sing this night
With thy white beams across their throats,
Let my deep silence speak for me
More than for them their sweetest notes :
Who worships thee till music fails,
Is greater than thy nightingales.
A Great Time 49
A Great Time
SWEET Chance, that led my steps abroad,
Beyond the town, where wild flowers grow-
A rainbow and a cuckoo, Lord,
How rich and great the times are now !
Know, all ye sheep
And cows, that keep
On staring that I stand so long
In grass that's wet from heavy rain —
A rainbow and a cuckoo's song
May never come together again ;
May never come
This side the tomb.
50 Her Absence
Her Absence
HOW rich hath Time become through her,
His sands are turned to purest gold !
And yet it grieves my heart full sore
To see them slipping from my hold.
How precious now each moment is,
Which I must cast like dirt away !
My only hope and comfort this —
Each moment will return that day,
On that sweet day, that joyful hour
When she lies willing in my power.
Nay, these rich moments are not lost,
But, like the morning's dewdrops, which
Into the sun their sweet lives cast,
To make his body far more rich—
Her Absence ci
• -'
So do these precious moments glide
Into her being, where they store ;
Until I clasp her as my bride,
And get them back with thousands more ;
Where they have banked in her sweet breast,
And saved themselves with interest.
52 The Wanderer
The Wanderer
NO morning breaks but he would pack,
With knapsack flung across his back,
And farther than the cuckoo roam,
Who makes no nest, and he no home.
And who he is, or where shall go,
No woman and no man shall know ;
And where he sleeps a secret is,
Only the harvest moon's and his.
And long before his meal is done,
A wandering dog shall have his bone ;
Beneath the trees, what birds are there
Shall have without a song their share.
And those that ride in coach or car,
While he's afoot, where towns are far,
Will point and say — " A beggar, he ! "
But where he shows his money free,
The Wanderer 53
For ale the best — not begs for water —
He'll hear the landlord's smiling daughter
Go whispering to her room, surprised —
" He's some big man come here disguised ! "
t
And everywhere he goes he'll be,
To young and old, a mystery ;
And laughing in his heart, will sow
His wonder-seeds where he shall go.
For, free, he lives his simple life,
And has not risked it with a wife.
Prefers tobacco's quiet blisses
To Love's breath-mixture sealed by kisses.
Can drink his ale, for days and days,
With no one to upbraid his ways.
Has studied his own self, to find
His best friends fancies of the mind ;
More faithful friends by far than he
Shall find in human company.
Has forced his presence in no place,
To meet at last declining grace ;
54 The Wanderer
Has always waited others' greeting,
Before he ventured on their meeting.
Since all his life has been like this,
Retiring into dreams of bliss,
Write these true words above his dust :
" He died because Age said he must ;
He gave no man or woman power
To change him from sweet looks to sour;
Society never gave him pain,
No woman broke his heart in twain ;
His body perished when his heart
Had no foul blight in any part ;
From day to day, from birth to death,
He took in joy at every breath."
The Child and the Man 55
The Child and the Man
DREAMING I was a child,
And met a man,
My fears of him were wild —
Away I ran.
The man ran after me :
" Why run away,
My little boy," said he —
" From me this day ? "
I looked with my eyes sad,
When I was caught;
His face seemed not so bad
As I first thought.
56 The Child and the Man
" I am yourself," said he :
" It gives me pain
To see you run from me —
Don't run again."
" Poor man," said I, " what made
You look so strange ?
No wonder I'm afraid,
At such a change."
He sobbed too much to speak,
He could not tell •,
And then my heart did break
With sobs as well.
The Black Cloud 57
The Black Cloud
r
LITTLE flocks of peaceful clouds,
J Lying in your fields so blue,
While my eyes look up they see
A black Ram coming close to you.
He will scatter you poor flocks,
He will tear up north and south ;
Lightning will come from his eye,
And fierce thunder from his mouth.
Little flocks of peaceful clouds,
Soon there'll be a dreadful rout ;
That Ram's horns can toss big ships,
Tear an oak tree's bowels out.
58 When I in Praise
When I in Praise
WHEN I in praise of babies speak,
She coldly smiles like winter's snow,
And looks on me with no soft eye :
Yet I have seen her kiss them so,
Her wealth of rapture made them cry.
Sometimes it seems her blood's too cold
For Love to even wet his toes,
Much less to paddle all about ;
But when she's kissed till her eyes close,
That god is warmer in than out.
I laugh, when she for other men
Confesses love ; but when she says
She hated one man she could kill,
My heart is all one jealous blaze,
For, pity me, she hates him still !
Sweet Child 59
Sweet Child
SWEET child, that wast my bird by day,
My bird that never failed in song ;
That on my bosom wast a bee,
And layst there all night long :
No more I'll hear thy voice at noon,
For Death has pierced thee with a thorn ;
No more thou'lt sleep upon my breast,
And trample it at morn.
Then break, oh break, poor empty cage,
The bird is dead, thy use is done ;
And die, poor plant, for your sweet bee
Is gone, forever gone.
6o In a Garden
In a Garden
FAR from the sound of commerce, where the
bees
Make hollow hum that bears It half in mind,
I live ; and when those flowers of early spring —
The Daffodils of March, that own unshared
All Nature's world, nor live to see their peers,
Primroses, Violets, and Anemones —
Are overwhelmed in June's green riot, I
Sit more in my small garden, where the flowers
Are large and strong. Blue Irises are there,
Dahlias, and heavy lidded Tulips, too ;
Snapdragons, Roses, Stocks, and Marigolds,
Solomon's Seals and Canterbury Bells ;
Tall Columbines that never raise their heads,
Sweet Peas and Asters, Mignonette and Pinks,
In a Garden 61
« *
And cat-eyed Pansies with their velvet skin ;
And Poppies, too, that with their richer hues
Make butterflies take wing or lie unseen ;
Lilies so fair they challenge all the world,
t
And hold in silver tumblers their gold dice,
Ready to throw and win ; and many a flower
Is there whose large, soft breast is strong enough
To suckle three or four bees at one time.
Those flowers I love, and take more pride in them
Than sailors take in wearing scarves of silk.
I watch with joy the little new-born buds,
How they just peep from half-closed eyes at morn,
And wake to find their dreams of dewdrops true.