In one of his poems which is not in any
of the anthologies— the best rarely are—Mr. W. H. Davies writes, of " Fancy " :
Much am I pleased with thee ; for thou hest more Sweet antics than a Squirrel on the boughs, Who, after he has made the green leaves fight, Slides to the ground for safety.
The analogy is very good, and to no living poet's fancy could it be applied more justly than to Mr. Davies' own.
The same consummate simplicity is evident in every new theme he touches, and it has been there from the beginning. One can only say, as though of a nightingale, " It is still singing," and tell people how it can best be heard. In Collected Poems, 1928 (Cape, 7s. 6d.), are all the lyrics up to the present,
going at the same price as one is asked to pay for the trashiest of novels without art or meaning. It is very good value indeed.
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