There is a very good short essay on Davidson in Derek Stanford's 'Poets Of The Nineties' anthology. Most of his contemporaries - Dowson, Wilde, Symonds, Plarr - sought to make musical poems; Davidson is all awkward intellectualism expressed in a take-it -or-leave-it language all his own. He is the most convincingly sincere of his contemporaries: reading him now one catches a vivid impresion of an odd (and remarkable) man who died over 100 years ago. And of what he saw in London, rather than what kind of poem he could make of London
In anguish we uplift A new unhallowed song: The race is to the swift; The battle to the strong.
Of old it was ordained That we, in packs like curs, Some thirty million trained And licensed murderers,