done, and knowing no better (or rather no worse) than to get
his book made by the appropriate craftsman and hawk it round like any
other ware."

It is more than likely that Davies' first notoriety as a tramp-poet
who had ridden the rails in the United States and had had his right
foot cut off by a train in Canada, obscured his merits as a genuine
singer. Even his early _The Soul's Destroyer_ (1907) revealed that
simplicity which is as _naif_ as it is strange. The volumes that
followed are more clearly melodious, more like the visionary wonder of
Blake, more artistically artless.

With the exception of "The Villain," which has not yet appeared in
book form, the following poems are taken from _The Collected Poems of
W. H. Davies_ (1916) with the permission of the publisher, Alfred A.
Knopf.

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.

THE MOON

Thy beauty haunts me heart and soul,
Oh, thou fair Moon, so close and bright;
Thy beauty makes me like the child
That cries aloud to own thy light:
The little child that lifts each arm
To press thee to her bosom warm.

Though there are birds that sing this night
With thy white beams across their throats,
Let my deep silence speak for me
More than for them their sweetest notes:
Who worships thee till music fails,
Is greater than thy nightingales.

THE VILLAIN

While joy gave clouds the light of stars,
That beamed where'er they looked;
And calves and lambs had tottering knees,
Excited, while they sucked;
While every bird enjoyed his song,
Without one thought of harm or wrong--
I turned my head and saw the wind,
Not far from where I stood,
Dragging the corn by her golden hair,
Into a dark and lonely wood.

THE EXAMPLE

Here's an example from
A Butterfly;
That on a rough, hard rock
Happy can lie;
Friendless and all alone
On this unswee