A thought-provoking reflection by W H Davies (1871-1940), self-defined as a “super-tramp,” who spent years as a young man roaming America and seeking his fortune in the Klondike. Particularly known for his intense response to the natural world, he was admired by such diverse literary figures as George Bernard Shaw and Edward Thomas.

BORN OF TEARS

A thing that’s rich in tears is sweet –

No sounds in all the world are sweeter,

A robin redbreast in the fall,

The nightingale in June;

The bleating of young lambs in March,

And the violin in tune:

These are the sounds that haunt my ears,

And all of them are born of tears.

A thing that’s rich in tears is fair –

No sights in all the world are fairer.

How lovely is a summer’s eve

That’s full of heavenly light;

When tears of joy, called shooting stars,

Run down the face of night.

While every rainbow that appears

Could say – ‘My mother’s name is Tears.’