William Henry Davies (Уильям Генри Дэвис (Дэйвис))

Joy and Pleasure

NOW, joy is born of parents poor,
    And pleasure of our richer kind; 
Though pleasure's free, she cannot sing
    As sweet a song as joy confined.

Pleasure's a Moth, that sleeps by day
    And dances by false glare at night; 
But Joy's a Butterfly, that loves
    To spread its wings in Nature's light.

Joy's like a Bee that gently sucks
    Away on blossoms its sweet hour; 
But pleasure's like a greedy Wasp,
    That plums and cherries would devour.

Joy's like a Lark that lives alone,
    Whose ties are very strong, though few; 
But Pleasure like a Cuckoo roams,
    Makes much acquaintance, no friends true.

Joy from her heart doth sing at home,
    With little care if others hear; 
But pleasure then is cold and dumb,
    And sings and laughs with strangers near. 

1. The Starved
2. The Old Oak Tree
3. Poor Kings
4. Seeking Joy
5. Love and the Muse

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