Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DREAMING BOY, by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DREAMING BOY, by                 Poet Analysis    
First Line: Sweet are thy dreams, thou happy, careless boy
Last Line: From hands that come to cage them till they die.
Alternate Author Name(s): Davies, W. H.
Subject(s): Dreams; Nightmares


Sweet are thy dreams, thou happy, careless boy;
Thou know'st the taste of immortality;
No weary limbs can rest upon thy heart;
Sleep has no care to ease thee of at night;
The same move shuts together eye and mind,
And in the morning one move opens both.
Life lies before thee, hardly stepped on yet,
Like a green prairie, fresh, and full of flowers.
Life lies before thee for experiment,
Until old age comes, whose sad eyes can trace
A better path he missed, with fairer flowers,
Which other men have walked in misery.
Thou hast no knowledge of a life of toil,
How hard Necessity destroys our dreams,
And castles-in-the-air must pay him tithes
So heavy that no tenants keep them long.
To thee the world is still unknown and strange;
Still full of wild romance, as in those days
Ere England launched her forests on the sea.
Thou wilt discover in far mountains caves
Deserted, lamps left burning for thy feet,
And comfort in them more than kings are worth.
Aye, many a gate will open at thy call,
And wise men will come forth to welcome thee,
And bells will ring for pleasure in thy ear.
Great monsters in dark woods, with mighty mouths
That swallow their own faces when they yawn,
And mountain bears that carry on their backs
Rough, shaggy coats whose price compares with silk --
Will fall by thy strong, right, all-conquering arm.
And who can stop thee; who can turn thee back?
Not giants, though they stand full twenty feet,
And sit too tall for common men to stand.
Oh, that sweet magic in thee, happy boy!
It makes a golden world for all things young.
Thou with an iron ring, a piece of bone,
A rusty blade, or half a yard of rope,
Art richer than a man with mines and ships.
The child's fresh mind makes honey out of soot,
Sweeter than age can make on banks of flowers;
He needs but cross a bridge, that happy boy,
And he can breathe the air of a new world.
Sweet children, with your trust in this hard life --
Like little birds that ope their mouths for food
From hands that come to cage them till they die.





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