The Boy (William Henry Davies Poem)
Go, little boy, Fill thee with joy; For Time gives thee Unlicensed hours, To run in fields, And roll in ...
Go, little boy, Fill thee with joy; For Time gives thee Unlicensed hours, To run in fields, And roll in ...
And now, when merry winds do blow, And rain makes trees look fresh, An overpowering staleness holds This mortal flesh. ...
Now shall I walk Or shall I ride? "Ride", Pleasure said; "Walk", Joy replied. Now what shall I -- Stay ...
I pray you, Sadness, leave me soon, In sweet invention thou art poor! Thy sister, Joy can make ten songs ...
Sing out, my soul, thy songs of joy; Sing as a happy bird will sing Beneath a rainbow's lovely arch ...
Now, joy is born of parents poor, And pleasure of our richer kind; Though pleasure's free, she cannot sing As ...
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