W. H. DAVIES

A Greeting

GOOD morning, Life--and all

Things glad and beautiful.

My pockets nothing hold,

But he that owns the gold,

The Sun, is my great friend--

His spending has no end.

Hail to the morning sky,

Which bright clouds measure high;

Hail to you birds whose throats

Would number leaves by notes;

Hail to you shady bowers,

And you green field of flowers.

Hail to you women fair,

That make a show so rare

In cloth as white as milk--

Be't calico or silk:

Good morning, Life--and all

Things glad and beautiful.