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William Henry Davies

William Henry Davies

Rich Or Poor

With thy true love I have more wealth
Than Charon’s piled-up bank doth hold;
Where he makes kings lay down their crowns
And life-long misers leave their gold.
 
Without thy love I’ve no more wealth
Than seen upon that other shore;
That cold, bare bank he rows them to -
Those kings and misers made so poor.

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If I were gusty April now, How I would blow at laughing Rose… I’d make her ribbons slip their kn… And all her hair come loose. If I were merry April now,
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I hear leaves drinking rain; I hear rich leaves on top Giving the poor beneath Drop after drop; ‘Tis a sweet noise to hear
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Alto