Walter de la Mare

A poor old Widow in her weeds Sowed her garden with wild-flower seeds; Not too shallow, and not too deep,

"Sneeze, Pretty, sneeze, Dainty, Else the Elves will have you sure, Sneeze, Light-of-Seven-Bright-Candles,

This ugly old crone - Every beauty she had When a maid, when a maid.

Launcelot loved Guinevere, Ages and ages ago, Beautiful as a bird was she,

Ann, Ann! Come! Quick as you can! There's a fish that talks

It was the Great Alexander, Capped with a golden helm, Sate in the ages, in his floating ship,

All but blind In his chambered hole Gropes for worms

Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the briar's boughs,

A very old woman Lives in yon house - The squeak of the cricket,

The abode of the nightingale is bare, Flowered frost congeals in the gelid air, The fox howls from his frozen lair:

The sun is clear of bird and cloud, The grass shines windless, grey, and still, In dusky ruin the owl dreams on,

Here lies a most beautiful lady, Light of step and heart was she; I think she was the most beautiful lady

By chance my fingers, resting on my face, Stayed suddenly where in its orbit shone The lamp of all things beautiful; then on,

Once and there was a young sailor, yeo ho! And he sailed out over the say For the isles where pink coral and palm branches blow,

Come, then, with showers; I love thy cloudy face Gilded with splendour of the sunbeam thro' The heedless glory of thy locks. I know

Roses are sweet to smell and see, And lilies on the stem; But rarer, stranger buds there be,

Far are the shades of Arabia, Where the Princes ride at noon, 'Mid the verdurous vales and thickets,

As Lucy went a-walking one morning cold and fine, There sate three crows upon a bough, and three times three is nine: Then "O!" said Lucy, in the snow, "it's very plain to see

As Lucy went a-walking one wintry morning fine, There sate three crows upon a bough, and three times three is nine: Then 'O!' said Lucy, in the snow, 'it's very plain to see

'Grill me some bones,' said the Cobbler, 'Some bones, my pretty Sue; I'm tired of my lonesome with heels and soles,

There is a wind where the rose was; Cold rain where sweet grass was; And clouds like sheep

What dost thou here far from thy native place? What piercing influences of heaven have stirred Thy heart's last mansion all-corruptible to wake,

Be angry now no more! If I have grieved thee - if Thy kindness, mine before,

There was an old woman Went blackberry picking Along the hedges

There was an old woman Went blackberry picking Along the hedges

She will not die, they say, She will but put her beauty by And hie away.

An ominous bird sang from its branch "Beware, O Wanderer! Night 'mid her flowers of glamourie spilled

An ominous bird sang from its branch, 'Beware, O Wanderer! Night 'mid her flowers of glamourie spilled

,, Lissom and jimp and slim, Calling me - calling me over the heather,

I have heard a lady this night, Lissom and jimp and slim, Calling me - calling me over the heather,

Where the bluebells and the wind are, Fairies in a ring I spied, And I heard a little linnet

'Cherries, ripe cherries!' The old woman cried, In her snowy white apron,

"Come now," I said, "put off these webs of death, Distract this leaden yearning of thine eyes From lichened banks of peace, sad mysteries

'Bunches of grapes,' says Timothy; 'Pomegranates pink,' says Elaine; 'A junket of cream and a cranberry tart

Old King Caraway Supped on cake, And a cup of sack

Out of the East a hurricane Swept down on Captain Lean - That mariner and gentleman

Ye little elves, who haunt sweet dells, Where flowers with the dew commune, I pray you hush the child, Cecil,

Clapping her platter stood plump Bess, And all across the green Came scampering in, on wing and claw,

Clear eyes do dim at last, And cheeks outlive their rose. Time, heedless of the past,

The old, old King of Cumberland Awoke with bristling beard - Crouched listening in the darkness

'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory, Here's sticks for your fire, Furze-twigs, and oak-twigs,

Down-adown-derry, Sweet Annie Maroon, Gathering daisies

Sunlight, moonlight, Twilight, starlight - Gloaming at the close of day,

Be gentle, O hands of a child; Be true: like a shadowy sea In the starry darkness of night

Heavenly Archer, bend thy bow; Now the flame of life burns low, Youth is gone; I, too, would go.

The cat she walks on padded claws, The wolf on the hills lays stealthy paws, Feathered birds in the rain-sweet sky

"Who called?" I said, and the words Through the whispering glades, Hither, thither, baffled the birds -

No lovelier hills than thine have laid My tired thoughts to rest: No peace of lovelier valleys made

Child, do you love the flower Ashine with colour and dew Lighting its transient hour?

There clung three roses to a stem, Did all their hues of summer don, But came a wind and troubled them,

No one was with me there - Happy I was - alone; Yet from the sunshine suddenly

I laid my inventory at the hand Of Death, who in his gloomy arbour sate; And while he conned it, sweet and desolate

When twilight darkens, and one by one, The sweet birds to their nests have gone; When to green banks the glow-worms bring

Had the gods loved me I had lain Where darnel is, and thorn, And the wild night-bird's nightlong strain

O strange devices that alone divide The se'r from the seen - The very highway of earth's pomp and pride

The words you said grow faint; The lamp you lit burns dim; Yet, still be near your faithless friend

'Twas in a tavern that with old age stooped And leaned rheumatic rafters o'er his head - A blowzed, prodigious man, which talked, and stared,

When I lie where shades of darkness Shall no more assail mine eyes, Nor the rain make lamentation

I know where lurk The eyes of Fear; I, I alone,

In Hans' old Mill his three black cats Watch the bins for the thieving rats. Whisker and claw, they crouch in the night,

For all the grief I have given with words May now a few clear flowers blow, In the dust, and the heat, and the silence of birds,

Thou canst not see him standing by - Time - with a poppied hand Stealing thy youth's simplicity,

One night as Dick lay half asleep, Into his drowsy eyes A great still light begins to creep

Upon a bank, easeless with knobs of gold, Beneath a canopy of noonday smoke, I saw a measureless Beast, morose and bold,

Still as a mountain with dark pines and sun He stood between the armies, and his shout Rolled from the empyrean above the host:

Beside the blaze of forty fires Giant Grim doth sit, Roasting a thick-woolled mountain sheep

Umbrageous cedars murmuring symphonies Stooped in late twilight o'er dark Denmark's Prince: He sat, his eyes companioned with dream -

Hapless, hapless, I must be All the hours of life I see, Since my foolish nurse did once

"Happy, happy it is to be Where the greenwood hangs o'er the dark blue sea; To roam in the moonbeams clear and still

From out the wood I watched them shine, - The windows of the haunted house, Now ruddy as enchanted wine,

The rabbit in his burrow keeps No guarded watch, in peace he sleeps; The wolf that howls in challenging night

Hide and seek, says the Wind, In the shade of the woods; Hide and seek, says the Moon,

Rest, rest - there is no rest, Until the quiet grave Comes with its narrow arch

"Ever exulting in thyself, on fire To flaunt the purple of the Universe, To strut and strut, and thy great part rehearse;

I can't abear a Butcher, I can't abide his meat, The ugliest shop of all is his,

I met at eve the Prince of Sleep, His was a still and lovely face, He wandered through a valley steep

I saw three witches That bowed down like barley, And took to their brooms 'neath a louring sky,

I saw three witches That bowed down like barley, And straddled their brooms 'neath a louring sky,

A dark lean face, a narrow, slanting eye, Whose deeps of blackness one pale taper's beam Haunts with a fitting madness of desire;

I saw old Idleness, fat, with great cheeks Puffed to the huge circumference of a sigh, But past all tinge of apples long ago.

Even she too dead! all languor on her brow, All mute humanity's last simpleness, - And yet the roses in her cheeks unfallen!

I knocked upon thy door ajar, While yet the woods with buds were grey; Nought but a little child I heard

The burning fire shakes in the night, On high her silver candles gleam, With far-flung arms enflamed with light,

Do diddle di do, Poor Jim Jay Got stuck fast

I spied John Mouldy in his cellar, Deep down twenty steps of stone; In the dusk he sat a-smiling,

In old-world nursery vacant now of children, With posied walls, familiar, fair, demure, And facing southward o'er romantic streets,

Like an old battle, youth is wild With bugle and spear, and counter cry, Fanfare and drummery, yet a child

King David was a sorrowful man: No cause for his sorrow had he; And he called for the music of a hundred harps,

Hearken, O dear, now strikes the hour we die; We, who in our strange kiss Have proved a dream the world's realities,

He squats by the fire On his three-legged stool, When all in the house

Longlegs - he yelled "Coo-ee!" And all across the combe Shrill and shrill it rang - rang through

Longlegs - he yelled 'Coo-ee!' And all across the combe Shrill and shrill it rang - rang through

I watched the Lady Caroline Bind up her dark and beauteous hair; Her face was rosy in the glass,

Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul! The singing mouse sings plaintively, The sweet night-bird in the chesnut-tree -

Rose, like dim battlements, the hills and reared Steep crags into the fading primrose sky; But in the desolate valleys fell small rain,

A little sound - - Only a little, a little - - The breath in a reed,

'Once ... once upon a time ...' Over and over again, Martha would tell us her stories,

Three and thirty birds there stood In an elder in a wood; Called Melmillo - flew off three,

Along an avenue of almond-trees Came three girls chattering of their sweethearts three. And lo! Mercutio, with Byronic ease,

Jemima is my name, But oh, I have another; My father always calls me Meg,

When thin-strewn memory I look through, I see most clearly poor Miss Loo, Her tabby cat, her cage of birds,

It's a very odd thing - - - As odd as can be - - That whatever Miss T. eats

Sitting under the mistletoe (Pale-green, fairy mistletoe), One last candle burning low,

Sitting under the mistletoe (Pale-green, fairy mistletoe), One last candle burning low,

"Whom seek you here, sweet Mistress Fell?" "One who loved me passing well. Dark his eye, wild his face -

The far moon maketh lovers wise In her pale beauty trembling down, Lending curved cheeks, dark lips, dark eyes,

Come, Death, I'd have a word with thee; And thou, poor Innocency; And love - a Lad with broken wing;

Mrs. Earth makes silver black, Mrs. Earth makes iron red But Mrs. Earth can not stain gold,

"Step very softly, sweet Quiet-foot, Stumble not, whisper not, smile not: By this dark ivy stoop cheek and brow.

With glass like a bull's-eye, And shutters of green, Down on the cobbles

When music sounds, gone is the earth I know, And all her lovely things even lovelier grow; Her flowers in vision flame, her forest trees

Sweet sounds, begone - Whose music on my ear Stirs foolish discontent

There is a garden, grey With mists of autumntide; Under the giant boughs,

"What is the world, O soldiers? It is I: I, this incessant snow,

Never more, Sailor, Shalt thou be Tossed on the wind-ridden,

Down by the waters of the sea, Reigns the King of Never-to-be. His palace walls are black with night;

Thistle and darnell and dock grew there, And a bush, in the corner, of may, On the orchard wall I used to sprawl

All from the light of the sweet moon Tired men lie now abed; Actionless, full of visions, soon

The last light fails - that shallow pool of day! The coursers of the dark stamp down to drink, Arch their wild necks, lift their wild heads and neigh;

Often I've heard the Wind sigh By the ivied orchard wall, Over the leaves in the dark night,

'Tis not my voice now speaks; but a bird In darkling forest hollows a sweet throat - Pleads on till distant echo too hath heard

Softly along the road of evening, In a twilight dim with rose, Wrinkled with age, and drenched with dew

Not any flower that blows But shining watch doth keep; Every swift changing chequered hour it knows

As I came out of Wiseman's Street, The air was thick with driving sleet; Crossing over Proudman's Square,

Here are crocuses, white, gold, grey! 'O dear me!' says Marjorie May; Flat as a platter the blackberry blows:

Three jolly Farmers Once bet a pound Each dance the others would

Three jolly Farmers Once bet a pound Each dance the others would

Sad is old Ben Thistlewaite, Now his day is done, And all his children

'Come!' said Old Shellover. 'What?' says Creep. 'The horny old Gardener's fast asleep;

When Susan's work was done, she would sit, With one fat guttering candle lit, And window opened wide to win

When Susan's work was done she'd sit, With one fat guttering candle lit, And window opened wide to win

There runs a crisscross pattern of small leaves Espalier, in a fading summer air, And there Ophelia walks, an azure flower,

From his cradle in the glamourie They have stolen my wee brother, Roused a changeling in his swaddlings

There haunts in Time's bare house an active ghost, Enamoured of his name, Polonius. He moves small fingers much, and all his speech

Lone and alone she lies, Poor Miss 7, Five steep flights from the earth,

Thick in its glass The physic stands, Poor Henry lifts

When Queen Djenira slumbers through The sultry noon's repose, From out her dreams, as soft she lies,

Rachel sings sweet - Oh yes, at night, Her pale face bent

The sky was like a waterdrop In shadow of a thorn, Clear, tranquil, beautiful,

When slim Sophia mounts her horse And paces down the avenue, It seems an inward melody

Bring not bright candles, for his eyes In twilight have sweet company; Bring not bright candles, else they fly -

Sadly, O, sadly, the sweet bells of Baddeley Played in their steeples when Robin was gone, Killed by an arrow,

When Sam goes back in memory, It is to where the sea Breaks on the shingle, emerald-green,

"I'm thinking and thinking," said old Sam Shore, "'Twere somebody knocking I heard at the door." From the clock popped the cuckoo and cuckooed out eight,

TO R.I. My heart faints in me for the distant sea. The roar of London is the roar of ire

Black lacqueys at the wide-flung door Stand mute as men of wood. Gleams like a pool the ballroom floor,

With changeful sound life beats upon the ear; Yet striving for release The most delighting string's

Slowly, silently, now the moon Walks the night in her silver shoon: This way, and that, she peers and sees

Men all, and birds, and creeping beasts, When the dark of night is deep, From the moving wonder of their lives

The scent of bramble fills the air, Amid her folded sheets she lies, The gold of evening in her hair,

As I lay awake in the white moonlight I heard a faint singing in the wood, "Out of bed,

No breath of wind, No gleam of sun - Still the white snow

Some one came knocking At my wee, small door; Some one came knocking,

Some one came knocking At my wee, small door; Some one came knocking,

O for a moon to light me home! O for a lanthorn green! For those sweet stars the Pleiades,

A Song of Enchantment I sang me there, In a green - green wood, by waters fair, Just as the words came up to me

Black as a chimney is his face, And ivory white his teeth, And in his brass-bound cart he rides,

"What voice is that I hear Crying across the pool?" "It is the voice of Pan you hear,

(To EDWARD THOMAS) The haze of noon wanned silver-grey, The soundless mansion of the sun;

Once when my life was young, I, too, with Spring's bright face By mine, walked softly along,

The sandy cat by the Farmer's chair Mews at his knee for dainty fare; Old Rover in his moss-greened house

In sea-cold Lyonesse, When the Sabbath eve shafts down On the roofs, walls, belfries

Suppose ... and suppose that a wild little Horse of Magic Came cantering out of the sky, With bridle of silver, and into the saddle I mounted,

If I were Lord of Tartary, Myself and me alone, My bed should be of ivory,

Has anybody seen my Mopser? - A comely dog is he, With hair of the colour of a Charles the Fifth,

Gold locks, and black locks, Red locks and brown, Topknot to love-curl

Thousandz of thornz there be On the Rozez where gozez The Zebra of Zee:

Shadow and light both strove to be The eight bell-ringers' company, As with his gliding rope in hand,

The bindweed roots pierce down Deeper than men do lie, Laid in their dark-shut graves

Dearest, it was a night That in its darkness rocked Orion's stars; A sighing wind ran faintly white

"I have no master," said the Blind Boy, "My mother, 'Dame Venus' they do call; Cowled in this hood she sent me begging

'I'm tired - Oh, tired of books,' said Jack, 'I long for meadows green, And woods, where shadowy violets

I had a silver buckle, I sewed it on my shoe, And 'neath a sprig of mistletoe

Why did you flutter in vain hope, poor bird, Hard-pressed in your small cage of clay? 'Twas but a sweet, false echo that you heard,

"Ahoy, and ahoy!" 'Twixt mocking and merry - "Ahoy and ahoy, there,

The light of dawn rose on my dreams, And from afar I seemed to hear In sleep the mellow blackbird call

I prythee, Nurse, come smooth my hair, And prythee, Nurse, unloose my shoe, And trimly turn my silken sheet

Winter is fallen early On the house of Stare; Birds in reverberating flocks

The bells chime clear, Soon will the sun behind the hills sink down; Come, little Ann, your baby brother dear

Sterile these stones By time in ruin laid. Yet many a creeping thing

I know a little cupboard, With a teeny tiny key, And there's a jar of Lollypops

In dreams a dark ch'teau Stands ever open to me, In far ravines dream-waters flow,

Who, now, put dreams into thy slumbering mind? Who, with bright Fear's lean taper, crossed a hand Athwart its beam, and stooping, truth maligned,

Why in my heart, O Grief, Dost thou in beauty hide? Dead is my well-content,

I curtseyed to the dovecote. I curtseyed to the well. I twirled me round and round about,

O thou who giving helm and sword, Gav'st, too, the rusting rain, And starry dark's all tender dews

Why does he still keep ticking? Why does his round white face Stare at me over the books and ink,

"Now, Jinnie, my dear, to the dwarf be off, That lives in Barberry Wood, And fetch me some honey, but be sure you don't laugh, -

Deep in a forest where the kestrel screamed, Beside a lake of water, clear as glass, The time-worn windows of a stone house gleamed,

See this house, how dark it is Beneath its vast-boughed trees! Not one trembling leaflet cries

From height of noon, remote and still, The sun shines on the empty hill. No mist, no wind, above, below;

I met a sailor in the woods, A silver ring wore he, His hair hung black, his eyes shone blue,

I am that Adam who, with Snake for guest, Hid anguished eyes upon Eve's piteous breast. I am that Adam who, with broken wings,

I heard along the early hills, Ere yet the lark was risen up, Ere yet the dawn with firelight fills

There was a Fairy - flake of winter - Who, when the snow came, whispering, Silence, Sister crystal to crystal sighing,

How do the days press on, and lay Their fallen locks at evening down, Whileas the stars in darkness play

How large unto the tiny fly Must little things appear! - A rosebud like a feather bed,

Come, Death, I'd have a word with thee; And thou, poor Innocency; And Love - a lad with broken wing;

Never, no never, listen too long, To the chattering wind in the willow, the night bird's song. 'Tis sad in sooth to lie under the grass,

They dressed us up in black, Susan and Tom and me - And, walking through the fields

'Lady Jane, O Lady Jane! Your hound hath broken bounds again, And chased my timorous deer, O;

Peace in thy hands, Peace in thine eyes, Peace on thy brow;

"Who knocks?" "I, who was beautiful, Beyond all dreams to restore, I, from the roots of the dark thorn am hither.

Art thou asleep? or have thy wings Wearied of my unchanging skies? Or, haply, is it fading dreams

As I lay awake in the white moonlight, I heard a sweet singing in the wood - 'Out of bed,

'A fagot, a fagot, go fetch for the fire, son!' 'O, Mother, the wolf looks in at the door!' 'Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! thou fierce grey wolf fly, now;

I saw sweet Poetry turn troubled eyes On shaggy Science nosing in the grass, For by that way poor Poetry must pass

In the black furrow of a field I saw an old witch-hare this night; And she cocked a lissome ear,

The flowers of the field Have a sweet smell; Meadowsweet, tansy, thyme,

There were two Fairies, Gimmul and Mel, Loved Earth Man's honey passing well; Oft at the hives of his tame bees

Hark! is that a horn I hear, In cloudland winding sweet - And bell-like clash of bridle-rein,

I heard a horseman Ride over the hill; The moon shone clear,

Three jolly gentlemen, In coats of red, Rode their horses

Three dwarfs there were which lived in an isle, And the name of that Isle was Lone, And the names of the dwarfs were Alliolyle,

Three dwarfs there were which lived on an isle, And the name of the isle was Lone, And the names of the dwarfs were Alliolyle,

Heart-sick of his journey was the Wanderer; Footsore and sad was he; And a Witch who long had lurked by the wayside,

Heart-sick of his journey was the Wanderer; Footsore and parched was he; And a Witch who long had lurked by the wayside,

While at her bedroom window once, Learning her task for school, Little Louisa lonely sat

When the light of day declineth, And a swift angel through the sky Kindleth God's tapers clear,

Upon this leafy bush With thorns and roses in it, Flutters a thing of light,

'Is there anybody there?' said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses

My dear Daddie bought a mansion For to bring my Mammie to, In a hat with a long feather,

Twinkum, twankum, twirlum and twitch My great grandam - She was a Witch. Mouse in wainscot, Saint in niche -

Some one is always sitting there, In the little green orchard; Even when the sun is high

Some one is always sitting there, In the little green orchard; Even when the sun is high

'Twas a very small garden; The paths were of stone, Scattered with leaves,

TO MARGOT When I go free, I think 'twill be

Poor little Lucy By some mischance, Lost her shoe

Let the foul Scene proceed: There's laughter in the wings; 'Tis sawdust that they bleed,

My mind is like a clamorous market-place. All day in wind, rain, sun, its babel wells; Voice answering to voice in tumult swells.

The shadow of a poplar tree Lay in that lake of sun, As I with my little sword went in -

Sand, sand; hills of sand; And the wind where nothing is Green and sweet of the land;

"Bubble, Bubble, Swim to see Oh, how beautiful

A twangling harp for Mary, A silvery flute for John, And now we'll play the livelong day,

Who beckons the green ivy up Its solitary tower of stone? What spirit lures the bindweed's cup

"Won't you look out of your window, Mrs. Gill?" Quoth the Fairy, nidding, nodding in the garden; " Can't you look out of your window, Mrs. Gill?"

Isled in the midnight air, Musked with the dark's faint bloom, Out into glooming and secret haunts

Through the green twilight of a hedge I peered, with cheek on the cool leaves pressed, And spied a bird upon a nest:

Still, and blanched, and cold, and lone, The icy hills far off from me With frosty ulys overgrown

'Tis silence on the enchanted lake, And silence in the air serene, Save for the beating of her heart,

'Tis moonlight on Trebarwith Vale, And moonlight on an Ogre keen, Who prowling hungry through the dale

A very, very old house I know- And ever so many people go, Past the small lodge, forlorn and still,

Old and alone, sit we, Caged, riddle-rid men; Lost to Earth's "Listen!" and "See!"

There came an Old Soldier to my door, Asked a crust, and asked no more; The wars had thinned him very bare,

Nothing on the grey roof, nothing on the brown, Only a little greening where the rain drips down; Nobody at the window, nobody at the door,

There came a Pedlar to an evening house; Sweet Lettice, from her lattice looking down, Wondered what man he was, so curious

'Upstairs in the large closet, child, This side the blue-room door, Is an old Bible, bound in leather,

Here is a sea-legged sailor, Come to this tottering Inn, Just when the bronze on its signboard is fading,

The old Pig said to the little pigs, 'In the forest is truffles and mast, Follow me then, all ye little pigs,

'Shall we carry now your bundle, You old grey man? Over hill and over meadow,

His brow is seamed with line and scar; His cheek is red and dark as wine; The fires as of a Northern star

You hunted me with all the pack, Too blind, too blind, to see By no wild hope of force or greed

Tom sang for joy and Ned sang for joy and old Sam sang for joy; All we four boys piped up loud, just like one boy; And the ladies that sate with the Squire - their cheeks were all wet,

Hearken! now the hermit bee Drones a quiet threnody; Greening on the stagnant pool

I saw the lovely arch Of Rainbow span the sky, The gold sun burning

'Build me my tomb,' the Raven said, 'Within the dark yew-tree, So in the Autumn yewberries

Green in light are the hills, and a calm wind flowing Filleth the void with a flood of the fragrance of Spring; Wings in this mansion of life are coming and going,

I was at peace until you came And set a careless mind aflame. I lived in quiet; cold, content;

O all ye fair ladies with your colours and your graces, And your eyes clear in flame of candle and hearth, Toward the dark of this old window lift not up your smiling faces,

"Thou solitary!" the Blackbird cried, "I, from the happy Wren, Linnet and Blackcap, Woodlark, Thrush,

Up on their brooms the Witches stream, Crooked and black in the crescent's gleam; One foot high, and one foot low,

When the last colours of the day Have from their burning ebbed away, About that ruin, cold and lone,

All winter through I bow my head Beneath the driving rain; The North wind powders me with snow

What lovely things Thy hand hath made: The smooth-plumed bird

Darker than night; and oh, much darker, she, Whose eyes in deep night darkness gaze on me. No stars surround her; yet the moon seems hid

There was a ship of Rio Sailed out into the blue, And nine and ninety monkeys

'Sailorman, I'll give to you My bright silver penny, If out to sea you'll sail me

As Ann came in one summer's day, She felt that she must creep, So silent was the clear cool house,

The scent of bramble sweets the air, Amid her folded sheets she lies, The gold of evening in her hair,

AT the edge of All the Ages A Knight sate on his steed, His armor red and thin with rust

Sweep thy faint Strings, Musician, With thy long lean hand; Downward the starry tapers burn,

Who said, 'Peacock Pie?' The old King to the sparrow: Who said, 'Crops are ripe?'

Where is beauty? Gone, gone: The cold winds have taken it

As I sat musing by the frozen dyke, There was a man marching with a bright steel pike, Marching in the dayshine like a ghost came he,

In the nook of a wood where a pool freshed with dew Glassed, daybreak till evening, blue sky glimpsing through Then a star; or a slip of May-moon silver-white,

Half-hidden in a graveyard, In the blackness of a yew, Where never living creature stirs,

Speak not - whisper not; Here bloweth thyme and bergamot; Softly on the evening hour,

Speak not - whisper not; Here bloweth thyme and bergamot; Softly on the evening hour,

A wolf he pricks with eyes of fire Across the night's o'ercrusted snows, Seeking his prey,

Few footsteps stray when dusk droops o'er The tailor's old stone-lintelled door: There sits he stitching half asleep,

There came a Thief one night to Robin's Castle, He climbed up into a Tree; And sitting with his head among the branches,

'Twas autumn daybreak gold and wild, While past St. Ann's grey tower they shuffled, Three beggars spied a fairy-child

There were three cherry trees once, Grew in a garden all shady; And there for delight of so gladsome a sight,

Far are those tranquil hills, Dyed with fair evening's rose; On urgent, secret errand bent,

The thin moonlight with trickling ray, Thridding the boughs of silver may, Trembles in beauty, pale and cool,

If you would happy company win, Dangle a palm-nut from a tree, Idly in green to sway and spin,

Ere my heart beats too coldly and faintly To remember sad things, yet be gay, I would sing a brief song of the world's little children

Ere my heart beats too coldly and faintly To remember sad things, yet be gay, I would sing a brief song of the world's little children

Flee into some forgotten night and be Of all dark long my moon-bright company: Beyond the rumour even of Paradise come,

After the songless rose of evening, Night quiet, dark, still, In nodding cavalcade advancing

Rare-sweet the air in that unimagined country - My spirit had wandered far From its weary body close-enwrapt in slumber

I heard a little child beneath the stars Talk as he ran along To some sweet riddle in his mind that seemed

As I did walk in meadows green I heard the summer noon resound With call of myriad things unseen

I think and think: yet still I fail - Why must this lady wear a veil? Why thus elect to mask her face

Behind the blinds I sit and watch The people passing - passing by; And not a single one can see

Weary went the old Witch, Weary of her pack, She sat her down by the churchyard wall,

Weary went the old Witch, Weary of her pack, She sat her down by the churchyard wall,

Now, through the dusk With muffled bell The Dustman comes

Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty A hundred years ago, All through the night with lantern bright

There blooms no bud in May Can for its white compare With snow at break of day,

They told me Pan was dead, but I Oft marvelled who it was that sang Down the green valleys languidly

If thou art sweet as they are sad Who on the shores of Time's salt sea Watch on the dim horizon fade

Old Tillie Turveycombe Sat to sew, Just where a patch of fern did grow;

There was nought in the Valley But a Tower of Ivory, Its base enwreathed with red

Poor Tired Tim! It's sad for him. He lags the long bright morning through, Ever so tired of nothing to do;

Have you been catching of fish, Tom Noddy? Have you snared a weeping hare? Have you whistled, 'No Nunny,'and gunned a poor bunny,

You sleep too well - too far away, For sorrowing word to soothe or wound; Your very quiet seems to say

When I go free, I think 'twill be A night of stars and snow,

Thine is my all, how little when 'tis told Beside thy gold! Thine the first peace, and mine the livelong strife;

She had amid her ringlets bound Green leaves to rival their dark hue; How could such locks with beauty bound

Of all the trees in England, Her sweet three corners in, Only the Ash, the bonnie Ash

Far inland here Death's pinions mocked the roar Of English seas; We sleep to wake no more,

Low on his fours the Lion Treads with the surly Bear', But Men straight upward from the dust

Down the Hill of Ludgate, Up the Hill of Fleet, To and fro and East and West

Ever before my face there went Betwixt earth's buds and me A beauty beyond earth's content,

What needest thou? - a few brief hours of rest Wherein to seek thyself in thine own breast; A transient silence wherein truth could say

Dark is the night, The fire burns faint and low, Hours - days - years,

Her breast is cold; her hands how faint and wan! And the deep wonder of her starry eyes Seemingly lost in cloudless Paradise,

Who is it calling by the darkened river Where the moss lies smooth and deep, And the dark trees lean unmoving arms,

Wide are the meadows of night, And daisies are shining there, Tossing their lovely dews,

When the rose is faded, Memory may still dwell on Her beauty shadowed,

None, none can tell where I shall be When the unclean earth covers me; Only in surety if thou cry

Where is my love - In silence and shadow she lies, Under the April-grey, calm waste of the skies;

Will he ever be weary of wandering, The flaming sun? Ever weary of waning in lovelight,

Clouded with snow The cold winds blow, And shrill on leafless bough

Green Mistletoe! Oh, I remember now A dell of snow,

Dark frost was in the air without, The dusk was still with cold and gloom, When less than even a shadow came