Sweet Stay-at-Home

William H. Davies

 

Sweet Stay-At-Home, sweet Well-Content,

Thou knowest of no strange continent:

Thou hast not felt thy bosom keep

A gentle motion with the deep;

Thou hast not sailed in Indian seas,

Where scent comes forth in every breeze.

Thou hast not seen the rich grape grow

For miles, as far as eyes can go;

Thou hast not seen a summer’s night

When maids could sew by a worm’s light;

Nor the North Sea in spring send out

Bright hues that like birds flit about

In solid cages of white ice—

Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Love-one-place.

Thou hast not seen black fingers pick

White cotton when the bloom is thick,

Nor heard black throats in harmony;

Nor hast thou sat on stones that lie

Flat on the earth, that once did rise

To hide proud kings from common eyes.

Thou hast not seen plains full of bloom

Where green things had such little room

They please the eye like fairer flowers—

Sweet Stay-at-Home, all these long hours.

Sweet Well-Content, sweet Love-one-place,

Sweet simple maid, bless thy dear face;

Thou hast made more homely stuff

Nurture thy gentle self enough;

I love thee for a heart that’s kind—

Not for the knowledge of thy mind.