Happiness

The English poet, Robert Graves, was born on 24th July 1895. On 24th July 1916, on his 21st birthday, he read his obituary in The Times, having supposedly been killed in action.

Nevertheless, he survived the war and went on to write his famous memoir Good-bye To All That, as well as historical novels, scholarly works and many fine poetry collections. Robert Graves died on 7th December 1985.

The poem I have chosen is amongst his happiest, in fact, he wrote of it in a letter, dated 2nd May 1963:

"As a matter of record, I have never been so happy in my life as now: all the unhappiness of three years has peeled away. I wrote a poem two days ago, beginning, 'Not to sleep all the night gone, for pure joy....' which is one of the few poems of utter happiness ever written....this is mine and may it excuse all the dark ones."

Not To Sleep

Not to sleep all the night long, for pure joy,

Counting no sheep and careless of chimes

Welcoming the dawn confabulation

of birds, her children, who discuss idly

Fanciful details of the promised coming -

Will she be wearing red, or russet, or blue,

Or pure white? - whatever she wears, glorious:

Not to sleep all the night long, for pure joy,

This is given to few, but at last to me,

So that when I laugh and stretch and leap from the bed

I shall glide downstairs, my feet brushing the carpet

In courtesy to civilized progression,

Though, did I wish, I could soar through the open window

And perch on a branch above, acceptable ally

Of the birds still alert, grumbling gently together.