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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
WILD OATS, by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES Poet Analysis
First Line: How slowly moves the snail, that builds
Last Line: Are there no more wild oats to sow?
Alternate Author Name(s): Davies, W. H.
First Line: How slowly moves the snail, that builds
Last Line: Are there no more wild oats to sow?
Alternate Author Name(s): Davies, W. H.
HOW slowly moves the snail, that builds
A silver street so fine and long:
I move as slowly, but I leave
Behind me not one breath of song.
Dumb as a moulting bird am I,
I go to bed when children do,
My ale but two half-pints a day,
And to one woman I am true.
Oh! what a life, how flat and stale --
How dull, monotonous and slow!
Can I sing songs in times so dead --
Are there no more wild oats to sow?
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