William Henry Davies

(3 July 1871 – 26 September 1940 / Monmouthshire / Wales)

A Fleeting Passion - Poem by William Henry Davies

Thou shalt not laugh, thou shalt not romp,
Let's grimly kiss with bated breath;
As quietly and solemnly
As Life when it is kissing Death.
Now in the silence of the grave,
My hand is squeezing that soft breast;
While thou dost in such passion lie,
It mocks me with its look of rest.

But when the morning comes at last,
And we must part, our passions cold,
You'll think of some new feather, scarf
To buy with my small piece of gold;
And I'll be dreaming of green lanes,
Where little things with beating hearts
Hold shining eyes between the leaves,
Till men with horses pass, and carts.

Comments about A Fleeting Passion by William Henry Davies

  • Freshman - 638 Points Alpeshkumar Natubhai Makwana (8/8/2015 10:12:00 AM)

    Cool (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • Rookie - 31 Points Christine Blaydes (3/10/2014 1:37:00 PM)

    This poem is a wonder in all of its forms, yet still rings true with its meaning of passion. (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: passion, silence, kiss, green, death, life, horse, dream

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

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