They sniffed, poor things, for their green fields,They cried so loud I could not sleep:For fifty thousand shillings downI would not sail again with sheep.
Autumn grows old: he, like some simple one,In Summer's castaway is strangely cladWilliam Henry Davies
The collier's wife had four tall sonsBrought from the pit's mouth dead,And crushed from foot to headWilliam Henry Davies
From my own kind I only learnHow foolish comfort isWilliam Henry Davies
Thou shalt not laugh, thou shalt not romp,Let's grimly kiss with bated breath;As quietly and solemnlyAs Life when it is kissing Death.William Henry Davies
What sweet, what happy days had I,When dreams made Time Eternity!William Henry Davies