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Live Stream: In May by W H Davies

Written by Rachael Norris, 14th May 2020

On Tuesdays and Thursdays at 1pm you can  join us on Facebook live for your bi-weekly dose of literature read aloud. We'll be looking at poems and texts that inspire us, reading along together and offering the chance for people to share their thoughts and get involved in discussions. If you'd like your lunch time to involve some literature, sit back and enjoy.

Today we are reading In May by W H Davies.

In May by William Henry Davies

Yes, I will spend the livelong dayWith Nature in this month of May;And sit beneath the trees, and shareMy bread with birds whose homes are there;While cows lie down to eat, and sheepStand to their necks in grass so deep;While birds do sing with all their might,As though they felt the earth in flight.This is the hour I dreamed of, whenI sat surrounded by poor men;And thought of how the Arab satAlone at evening, gazing atThe stars that bubbled in clear skies;And of young dreamers, when their eyesEnjoyed methought a precious boonIn the adventures of the MoonWhose light, behind the Clouds' dark bars,Searched for her stolen flocks of stars.When I, hemmed in by wrecks of men,Thought of some lonely cottage thenFull of sweet books; and miles of sea,With passing ships, in front of me;And having, on the other hand,A flowery, green, bird-singing land.

Posted by The Reader on Thursday, May 14, 2020

In May
Yes, I will spend the livelong day
With Nature in this month of May;
And sit beneath the trees, and share
My bread with birds whose homes are there;
While cows lie down to eat, and sheep
Stand to their necks in grass so deep;
While birds do sing with all their might,
As though they felt the earth in flight.
This is the hour I dreamed of, when
I sat surrounded by poor men;
And thought of how the Arab sat
Alone at evening, gazing at
The stars that bubbled in clear skies;

And of young dreamers, when their eyes
Enjoyed methought a precious boon
In the adventures of the Moon
Whose light, behind the Clouds' dark bars,
Searched for her stolen flocks of stars.
When I, hemmed in by wrecks of men,
Thought of some lonely cottage then
Full of sweet books; and miles of sea,
With passing ships, in front of me;
And having, on the other hand,
A flowery, green, bird-singing land.

W H Davies

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