Davis was born in Nonpareil, a backwoods community near Roseburg, in western Oregon. His parents were educated, his father a country schoolteacher who was also an expert rifle shot and could maintain discipline in tough times.
Life on the frontier was not easy and education was even more difficult to obtain. But through hardships, Davis managed to write his first novel Honey in the Horn (1935), winning the Pulitzer Prize for fiction for it. Writing was not his only occupation as he had worked before as packer, surveyor, timekeeper for a railroad, cowpuncher, sheepherder and deputy sheriff.
His efforts in poetry won him the Levinson Prize in 1919. Davis followed this with more novels such as, Harp of a Thousand Strings (1947), Beulah Land (1949), Winds of Morning (1952), and The Distant Music (1957).
Davis also wrote many short stories and sketches, gathered in two collections, Team Bells Woke Me (1953) and Kettle of Fire (1959).
Proud Riders
by Harold Lenoir Davis
We rode hard, and brought the cattle from brushy springs
From heavy dying thickets, leaves wet as snow;
From high places, white-grassed, and dry in the wind;
Draws where the quaken-asps were yellow and white,
And the leaves spun and spun like money spinning.
We poured them out on the trail, and rode for town.
True to the soil and to frontier life, this poem portrays a busy working life in a beautiful natural setting of America's Far West. but not just to nature, the poem addresses the robust, brave and jovial character of the people.
His efforts in poetry won him the Levinson Prize in 1919. Davis followed this with more novels such as, Harp of a Thousand Strings (1947), Beulah Land (1949), Winds of Morning (1952), and The Distant Music (1957).
Davis also wrote many short stories and sketches, gathered in two collections, Team Bells Woke Me (1953) and Kettle of Fire (1959).
Proud Riders
by Harold Lenoir Davis
We rode hard, and brought the cattle from brushy springs
From heavy dying thickets, leaves wet as snow;
From high places, white-grassed, and dry in the wind;
Draws where the quaken-asps were yellow and white,
And the leaves spun and spun like money spinning.
We poured them out on the trail, and rode for town.
True to the soil and to frontier life, this poem portrays a busy working life in a beautiful natural setting of America's Far West. but not just to nature, the poem addresses the robust, brave and jovial character of the people.
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