Poem by William Henry Davies

Poor Kings

God's pity on poor kings,
    They know no gentle rest;
The North and South cry out,
    Cries come from East and West--
"Come, open this new Dock,
    Building, Bazaar or Fair."
Lord, what a wretched life
    Such men must bear.

They're followed, watched and spied,
    No liberty they know;
Some eye will watch them still,
    No matter where they go.
When in green lanes I muse,
    Alone, and hear birds sing,
God's pity then, say I,
    On some poor king.

1. Smiles
2. My Youth
3. The Sleepers
4. The Starved
5. The Old Oak Tree

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