Though I was born in April's prime,
With many another lamb,
Yet, thinking now of all my years,
What am I but a tough old ram?
"No woman thinks of years," said she,
"Or any tough old rams,
When she can hear a voice that bleats
As tenderly as any lamb's."
Back to William Henry Davies
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓
To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.