William Henry Davies
The Collected Poems of William H. Davies
No idle gold—since this fine sun, my friend,
Is no mean miser, but doth freely spend.
No precious stones—since these green mornings show,
Without a charge, their pearls where’er I go.
No lifeless books—since birds with their sweet tongues
Will read aloud to me their happier songs.
No painted scenes—since clouds can change their skies
A hundred times a day to please my eyes.
No headstrong wine—since, while I drink, the spring
Into my eager ears will softly sing.
No surplus clothes—since every simple beast
Can teach me to be happy with the least.