Flowers

Flowers written by William Henry Davies

From "Poems 1930-1931", 1932

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What favourite flowers are mine, I cannot say -
My fancy changes with the summer's day.
Sometimes I think, agreeing with the Bees,
That my best flowers are those tall apple trees,
Who give a Bee his cyder^(sic!) while in bloom,
And keep me waiting till their apples come.
Sometimes I think the Columbine has won,
Who hangs her head and never looks the Sun
Straight in the face. And now the Golden Rod
Beckons me over with a graceful nod;
Shaped like a sheaf of corn, her ruddy skin
Drinks the Sun dry, and leaves his splendour thin.
Sometimes I think the Rose must have her place -
And then the Lily shakes her golden dice
Deep in a silver cup, to win or lose.
So I go on, from Columbine to Rose,
From Marigold to Flock, from Flock to Thrift -
Till nothing but my garden stones are left.
But when I see the dimples in her face,
All filled with tender moss in every place -
Ah, then I think, when all is said and done,
My favourite flower must be a Mossy Stone!

This work is in the public domain in countries where the copyright term is the author's life plus 70 years or less.