The Poetry Corner

Cowslips And Larks

By William Henry Davies

I hear it said yon land is poor, In spite of those rich cowslips there - And all the singing larks it shoots To heaven from the cowslips' roots. But I, with eyes that beauty find, And music ever in my mind, Feed my thoughts well upon that grass Which starves the horse, the ox, and ass. So here I stand, two miles to come To Shapwick and my ten-days-home, Taking my summer's joy, although The distant clouds are dark and low, And comes a storm that, fierce and strong, Has brought the Mendip hills along: Those hills that when the light is there Are many a sunny mile from here.