No. 2. MR. W. H. DAVIES

I’m sure that you would never guess The tales I hear from birds and flowers, Without them sure ’twould be a mess I’d make of all the summer hours; But these fair things they make for me A lovely life of joy and glee. I saw some sheep upon some grass, The sheep were fat, the grass was green, The sheep were white as clouds that pass, And greener grass was never seen; I thought, “Oh, how my bliss is deep, With such green grass and such fat sheep!” And as I watch bees in a hive, Or gentle cows that rub ’gainst trees, I do not envy men who live, No fields, no books upon their knees. I’d rather lie beneath small stars Than with rough men who drink in bars.

A poor old man Who has no bread, He nothing can To get a bed. He has a cough, Bad boots he has; He takes them off Upon the grass. He does not eat In cosy inns But keeps his meat In salmon tins. No oven hot, No frying-pan; Thank God I’m not That poor old man.