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Comfort (Davies)
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| Comfort written by William Henry Davies |
| From "The Song of Life", 1920 | Link to further information |
From my own kind I only learn
How foolish comfort is;
To gather things that happy minds
Should neither crave nor miss:
Fine brackets to adorn my walls,
Whose tales are quickly told;
And copper candlesticks or brass,
Which soon must leave me cold.
From my own kind I only learn
That comfort breeds more care;
But when I watch our smaller lives,
There's plainness everywhere:
That little bird is well content,
When he no more can sing,
To close his eyes and tuck his head
Beneath his own soft wing.
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