Treasure Island

William Henry Davies

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

Days Too Short


When primroses are out in Spring,
And small, blue violets come between;
When merry birds sing on boughs green,
And rills, as soon as born, must sing;

When butterflies will make side-leaps,
As though escaped from Nature's hand
Ere perfect quite; and bees will stand
Upon their heads in fragrant deeps;

When small clouds are so silvery white
Each seems a broken rimmed moon--
When such things are, this world too soon,
For me, doth wear the veil of night.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read poems about / on: spring, nature, moon, green, world, night, butterfly

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Days Too Short by William Henry Davies )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. تقدموا, سميح القاسم
  2. Fearless, Omar Eldamsheety
  3. Unintentional Existence: Repository Citr.., Onyekachukwu Vincent Onyeche
  4. Friendzone (Rap song), Clint Kingham
  5. The Marché Aux Puces And The Jardin Des .., William Daryl Hine
  6. The Lake, William Daryl Hine
  7. The Copper Beech, William Daryl Hine
  8. On This Rock, William Daryl Hine
  9. Last Words, William Daryl Hine
  10. Echo, William Daryl Hine

Poem of the Day

poet Henry David Thoreau

My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]