William Henry Davies
The Collected Poems of William H. Davies
This life is sweetest; in this wood
I hear no children cry for food;
I see no woman white with care,
No man with muscles wasting here.
No doubt it is a selfish thing
To fly from human suffering;
No doubt he is a selfish man,
Who shuns poor creatures sad and wan.
But ’tis a wretched life to face
Hunger in almost every place;
Cursed with a hand that’s empty, when
The heart is full to help all men.