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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.
This poem is in the public domain.
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William Henry Davies (1871-1940) was a Welsh poet who started out as a rounder but ended up a respected poet. Raised by grandparents after his father died and his mother remarried, William was inclined toward a life of adventure; he traveled by boat to North America repeatedly before losing a leg in attempting to jump a train. He eventually returned to England, wrote a book about his wandering years, paid and starved his way into becoming a published poet and, eventually, gained equal standing with such contemporaries as Yeats and Ezra Pound.
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Tom Plante:
Thank you. Davies was one of my earliest influences and it's nice to be reminded of him. "What good's this life, if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?"
Posted 08/03/2011 10:28 AM
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dotief@comcast.net:
Each day I can observe from my deck doves, sparrows, bluejays, humming birds, baby woodpeckers and, my favorite, a pair of cardinals; so this poem really strikes a deep chord with me. I love being allowed a glimpse into their song-filled lives, and I see that even 100 years ago, poets enjoyed the very same sounds that I have enjoyed.
Posted 08/02/2011 09:30 AM
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KevinArnold:
Ah yes, "My heart has many a sweet bird's song --/And one that's all my own."
Posted 08/02/2011 09:11 AM
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dianapoet:
lovely
Posted 08/02/2011 07:46 AM
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Eiken:
simply lovely. Maire
Posted 08/02/2011 04:37 AM
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