Saturday, 13 April 2013
KILLED IN ACTION by W H Davies
W H Davies was the tramp-turned-poet fellow-Welshman friend of Thomas's and who he often helped out with his rent, even though he and Helen were struggling on the pittance Thomas earned reviewing books and writing them. Here is his tribute to his friend.
KILLED IN ACTION
Happy the man whose home is still
In Nature's green and peaceful ways;
To wake and hear the birds so loud,
That scream for joy to see the sun
Is shouldering past a sullen cloud.
And we have known those days, when we
Would wait to hear the cuckoo first;
When you and I, with thoughtful mind,
Would help a bird to hide her nest,
For fear of other hands less kind.
But thou, my friend, art lying dead:
War, with its hell-born childishness,
Has claimed thy life, with many more:
The man that loved this England well,
And never left it once before.
You may know "supertramp" W H Davies' poem Leisure . . . "What is life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare . . ." One from my childhood, committed to memory.