Chapter I: Front Matter

COLLECTED POEMS

1901-1918

BY

WALTER DE LA MARE

IN TWO VOLUMES

VOL. II

1920

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CONTENTS

SONGS OF CHILDHOOD: 1901

TO JILL--
SLEEPYHEAD
BLUEBELLS
LOVELOCKS
TARTARY
THE BUCKLE
THE HARE
BUNCHES OF GRAPES
JOHN MOULDY
THE FLY
SONG
I SAW THREE WITCHES
THE SILVER PENNY
THE RAINBOW
THE FAIRIES DANCING
REVERIE
THE THREE BEGGARS
THE DWARF
ALULVAN
THE PEDLAR
THE OGRE
DAME HICKORY
THE PILGRIM
THE GAGE
AS LUCY WENT A-WALKING
THE ENGLISHMAN
THE PHANTOM
THE MILLER AND HIS SON
DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY
THE SUPPER
THE ISLE OF LONE
SLEEPING BEAUTY
THE HORN
CAPTAIN LEAN
THE PORTRAIT OF A WARRIOR
HAUNTED
THE RAVEN'S TOMB
THE CHRISTENING
THE FUNERAL
THE MOTHER BIRD
THE CHILD IN THE STORY GOES TO BED
THE LAMPLIGHTER
I MET AT EVE
LULLABY
ENVOI

[Transcriber's Note: Because the remainder of this volume is available elsewhere in the PG archive, it is not included here.]

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SONGS OF CHILDHOOD: 1901

TO JILL

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SLEEPYHEAD

As I lay awake in the white moonlight,
I heard a faint singing in the wood,
"Out of bed,
Sleepyhead,
Put your white foot, now;
Here are we
Beneath the tree
Singing round the root now."

I looked out of window, in the white moonlight,
The leaves were like snow in the wood--
"Come away,
Child, and play
Light with the gnomies;
In a mound,
Green and round,
That's where their home is."

"Honey sweet,
Curds to eat,
Cream and frumenty,
Shells and beads,
Poppy seeds,
You shall have plenty."

But, as soon as I stooped in the dim moonlight
To put on my stocking and my shoe,
The sweet shrill singing echoed faintly away,
And the grey of the morning peeped through,
And instead of the gnomies there came a red robin
To sing of the buttercups and dew.

BLUEBELLS

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

Where the primrose and the dew are--
Soon were sped the fairies all:
Only now the green turf freshens,
And the linnets call.

LOVELOCKS

I watched the Lady Caroline Bind up her dark and beauteous hair; Her face was rosy in the glass, And 'twixt the coils her hands would pass, White in the candleshine.

Her bottles on the table lay, Stoppered, yet sweet of violet; Her image in the mirror stooped To view those locks as lightly looped As cherry boughs in May.

The snowy night lay dim without, I heard the Waits their sweet song sing; The window smouldered keen with frost; Yet still she twisted, sleeked and tossed Her beauteous hair about.

TARTARY

If I were Lord of Tartary, Myself and me alone, My bed should be of ivory, Of beaten gold my throne; And in my court would peacocks flaunt, And in my forests tigers haunt, And in my pools great fishes slant Their fins athwart the sun.

If I were Lord of Tartary, Trumpeters every day To every meal should summon me, And in my courtyard bray; And in the evening lamps would shine, Yellow as honey, red as wine, While harp, and flute, and mandoline, Made music sweet and gay.

If I were Lord of Tartary, I'd wear a robe of beads, White, and gold, and green they'd be-- And clustered thick as seeds; And ere should wane the morning-star, I'd don my robe and scimitar, And zebras seven should draw my car Through Tartary's dark glades.

Lord of the fruits of Tartary, Her rivers silver-pale! Lord of the hills of Tartary, Glen, thicket, wood, and dale! Her flashing stars, her scented breeze, Her trembling lakes, like foamless seas, Her bird-delighting citron-trees In every purple vale!

THE BUCKLE

I had a silver buckle,
I sewed it on my shoe,
And 'neath a sprig of mistletoe
I danced the evening through.

I had a bunch of cowslips,
I hid them in a grot,
In case the elves should come by night
And me remember not.

I had a yellow riband,
I tied it in my hair,
That, walking in the garden,
The birds might see it there.

I had a secret laughter,
I laughed it near the wall:
Only the ivy and the wind
May tell of it at all.

THE HARE

In the black furrow of a field
I saw an old witch-hare this night;
And she cocked a lissome ear,
And she eyed the moon so bright,
And she nibbled of the green;
And I whispered "Wh-s-st! witch-hare,"
Away like a ghostie o'er the field
She fled, and left the moonlight there.

BUNCHES OF GRAPES

"Bunches of grapes," says Timothy; "Pomegranates pink," says Elaine; "A junket of cream and a cranberry tart For me," says Jane.

"Love-in-a-mist," says Timothy; "Primroses pale," says Elaine; "A nosegay of pinks and mignonette For me," says Jane.

"Chariots of gold," says Timothy; "Silvery wings," says Elaine; "A bumpity ride in a waggon of hay For me," says Jane.

JOHN MOULDY

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

He read no book, he snuffed no candle;
The rats ran in, the rats ran out;
And far and near, the drip of water
Went whispering about.

The dusk was still, with dew a-falling,
I saw the Dog Star bleak and grim,
I saw a slim brown rat of Norway
Creep over him.

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

THE FLY

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

A dewdrop like a looking-glass,
A hair like golden wire;
The smallest grain of mustard-seed
As fierce as coals of fire;

A loaf of bread, a lofty hill;
A wasp, a cruel leopard;
And specks of salt as bright to see
As lambkins to a shepherd.

SONG

O for a moon to light me home!
O for a lanthorn green!
For those sweet stars the Pleiades,
That glitter in the darkling trees;
O for a lovelorn taper! O
For a lanthorn green!

O for a frock of tartan!
O for clear, wild grey eyes!
For fingers light as violets,
'Neath branches that the blackbird frets;
O for a thistly meadow! O
For clear, wild grey eyes!

O for a heart like almond boughs!
O for sweet thoughts like rain!
O for first-love like fields of grey
Shut April-buds at break of day!
O for a sleep like music!
Dreams still as rain!