The Poetry of Walter de la Mare - The First Volume: “It was a pity thoughts always ran the easiest way, like water in old ditches.”
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Walter de la Mare was born on April 25th 1873 at Charlton which was then in Kent. It was only in 1902 that he was able to first publish with Songs of Childhood using the name Walter Ramal. Writing would not support him or his family for some time to come but in the next few years he wrote two supernatural novels and much poetry which culminated in Peacock Pie being published in 1913. A writer of perhaps a 100 short stories these together with his works for children give an undoubted breath to his legacy which include essays and his marvellous anthology for children ‘Come Hither’. By 1947 Walter’s health suffered due to a coronary thrombosis. He was made a companion of honour in 1948, and received the Order of Merit on 1953. Three years later on June 22nd 1956 at the age of 83 Walter de la Mare died of another coronary thrombosis. His ashes are buried in the crypt of St Paul's Cathedral, where he had once been a choirboy.
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The Poetry of Walter de la Mare - The First Volume - Walter De La Mare
The Poetry of Walter de la Mare
The First Volume
Walter de la Mare was born on April 25th 1873 at Charlton which was then in Kent.
It was only in 1902 that he was able to first publish with Songs of Childhood using the name Walter Ramal. Writing would not support him or his family for some time to come but in the next few years he wrote two supernatural novels and much poetry which culminated in Peacock Pie being published in 1913.
A writer of perhaps a 100 short stories these together with his works for children give an undoubted breath to his legacy which include essays and his marvellous anthology for children ‘Come Hither’.
By 1947 Walter’s health suffered due to a coronary thrombosis. He was made a companion of honour in 1948, and received the Order of Merit on 1953. Three years later on June 22nd 1956 at the age of 83 Walter de la Mare died of another coronary thrombosis.
His ashes are buried in the crypt of St Paul's Cathedral, where he had once been a choirboy.
Index of Poems
LYRICAL POEMS
THEY TOLD ME
SORCERY
THE CHILDREN OF STARE
AGE
THE GLIMPSE
REMEMBRANCE
TREACHERY
IN VAIN
THE MIRACLE
KEEP INNOCENCY
THE PHANTOM
VOICES
THULE
THE BIRTHNIGHT: TO F.
THE DEATH-DREAM
WHERE IS THY VICTORY?
FOREBODING
VAIN FINDING
NAPOLEON
ENGLAND
TRUCE
EVENING
NIGHT
THE UNIVERSE
GLORIA MUNDI
IDLENESS
GOLIATH
CHARACTERS FROM SHAKESPEARE
FALSTAFF
MACBETH
BANQUO
MERCUTIO
JULIET'S NURSE
IAGO
IMOGEN
POLONIUS
OPHELIA
HAMLET
SONNETS
THE HAPPY ENCOUNTER
APRIL
SEA-MAGIC
THE MARKET-PLACE
ANATOMY
EVEN IN THE GRAVE
BRIGHT LIFE
HUMANITY
VIRTUE
MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD
REVERIE
THE MASSACRE
ECHO
FEAR
THE MERMAIDS
MYSELF
AUTUMN
WINTER
ENVOI: TO MY MOTHER
THE LISTENERS: 1914
THE THREE CHERRY TREES
OLD SUSAN
OLD BEN
MISS LOO
THE TAILOR
MARTHA
THE SLEEPER
THE KEYS OF MORNING
RACHEL
ALONE
THE BELLS
THE SCARECROW
NOD
THE BINDWEED
WINTER
THERE BLOOMS NO BUD IN MAY
NOON AND NIGHT FLOWER
ESTRANGED
THE TIRED CUPID
DREAMS
FAITHLESS
THE SHADE
BE ANGRY NOW NO MORE
EXILE
WHERE?
MUSIC UNHEARD
ALL THAT'S PAST
WHEN THE ROSE IS FADED
SLEEP
THE STRANGER
NEVER MORE SAILOR
ARABIA
THE MOUNTAINS
QUEEN DJENIRA
NEVER-TO-BE
THE DARK CHÂTEAU
THE DWELLING-PLACE
THE LISTENERS
TIME PASSES
BEWARE!
THE JOURNEY
HAUNTED
SILENCE
WINTER DUSK
THE GHOST
AN EPITAPH
THE HAWTHORN HATH A DEATHLY SMELL
MOTLEY: 1918
THE LITTLE SALAMANDER
THE LINNET
THE SUNKEN GARDEN
THE RIDDLERS
MOONLIGHT
THE BLIND BOY
THE QUARRY
MRS. GRUNDY
THE TRYST
ALONE
THE EMPTY HOUSE
MISTRESS FELL
THE GHOST
THE STRANGER
BETRAYAL
THE CAGE
THE REVENANT
MUSIC
THE REMONSTRANCE
NOCTURNE
THE EXILE
THE UNCHANGING
INVOCATION
EYES
LIFE
THE DISGUISE
VAIN QUESTIONING
VIGIL
THE OLD MEN
THE DREAMER
MOTLEY
THE MARIONETTES
TO E.T.: 1917
APRIL MOON
THE FOOL'S SONG
CLEAR EYES
DUST TO DUST
THE THREE STRANGERS
ALEXANDER
THE REAWAKENING
THE VACANT DAY
THE FLIGHT
FOR ALL THE GRIEF
THE SCRIBE
FARE WELL
WALTER DE LA MARE – A SHORT BIOGRAPHY
WALTER DE LA MARE – A CONCISE BIBLIOGRAPHY
LYRICAL POEMS
THEY TOLD ME
They told me Pan was dead, but I
Oft marvelled who it was that sang
Down the green valleys languidly
Where the grey elder-thickets hang.
Sometimes I thought it was a bird
My soul had charged with sorcery;
Sometimes it seemed my own heart heard
Inland the sorrow of the sea.
But even where the primrose sets
The seal of her pale loveliness,
I found amid the violets
Tears of an antique bitterness.
SORCERY
"What voice is that I hear
Crying across the pool?"
"It is the voice of Pan you hear,
Crying his sorceries shrill and clear,
In the twilight dim and cool."
"What song is it he sings,
Echoing from afar;
While the sweet swallow bends her wings,
Filling the air with twitterings,
Beneath the brightening star?"
The woodman answered me,
His faggot on his back:
"Seek not the face of Pan to see;
Flee from his clear note summoning thee
To darkness deep and black!"
"He dwells in thickest shade,
Piping his notes forlorn
Of sorrow never to be allayed;
Turn from his coverts sad
Of twilight unto morn!"
The woodman passed away
Along the forest path;
His ax shone keen and grey
In the last beams of day:
And all was still as death:
Only Pan singing sweet
Out of Earth's fragrant shade;
I dreamed his eyes to meet,
And found but shadow laid
Before my tired feet.
Comes no more dawn to me,
Nor bird of open skies.
Only his woods' deep gloom I see
Till, at the end of all, shall rise,
Afar and tranquilly,
Death's stretching sea.
THE CHILDREN OF STARE
Winter is fallen early
On the house of Stare;
Birds in reverberating flocks
Haunt its ancestral box;
Bright are the plenteous berries
In clusters in the air.
Still is the fountain's music,
The dark pool icy still,
Whereupon a small and sanguine sun
Floats in a mirror on,
Into a West of crimson,
From a South of daffodil.
'Tis strange to see young children
In such a wintry house;
Like rabbits' on the frozen snow
Their tell-tale footprints go;
Their laughter rings like timbrels
'Neath evening ominous:
Their small and heightened faces
Like wine-red winter buds;
Their frolic bodies gentle as
Flakes in the air that pass,
Frail as the twirling petal
From the briar of the woods.
Above them silence lours,
Still as an arctic sea;
Light fails; night falls; the wintry moon
Glitters; the crocus soon
Will ope grey and distracted
On earth's austerity:
Thick mystery, wild peril,
Law like an iron rod:
Yet sport they on in Spring's attire,
Each with his tiny fire
Blown to a core of ardour
By the awful breath of God.
AGE
This ugly old crone
Every beauty she had
When a maid, when a maid.
Her beautiful eyes,
Too youthful, too wise,
Seemed ever to come
To so lightless a home,
Cold and dull as a stone.
And her cheeks, who would guess
Cheeks cadaverous as this
Once with colours were gay
As the flower on its spray?
Who would ever believe
Aught could bring one to grieve
So much as to make
Lips bent for love's sake
So thin and so grey?
O Youth, come away!
As she asks in her lone,
This old, desolate crone.
She loves us no more;
She is too old to care
For the charms that of yore
Made her body so fair.
Past repining, past care,
She lives but to bear
One