Poem by William Henry Davies

The Flood

I THOUGHT my true love slept;
Behind her chair I crept
    And pulled out a long pin; 
The golden flood came out,
She shook it all about,
    With both our faces in.

Ah! little wren, I know
Your mossy, small nest now
    A windy, cold place is; 
No eye can see my face,
Howe'er it watch the place
    Where I half drown in bliss.

When I am drowned hald dead,
She laughs and shakes her head;
    Flogged by her hair-waves, I 
Withdraw my face from there;
But never once, I swear,
    She heard a mercy cry. 

1. The Starved
2. The Old Oak Tree
3. Poor Kings
4. Seeking Joy
5. Love and the Muse

Robert Frost The Flood ("Blood has been harder to dam back than water")

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