Chapter 1

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!

I SAW THREE WITCHES

I saw three witches That bowed down like barley, And straddled their brooms 'neath a louring sky, And, mounting a storm-cloud, Aloft on its margin, Stood black in the silver as up they did fly.

I saw three witches That mocked the poor sparrows They carried in cages of wicker along, Till a hawk from his eyrie Swooped down like an arrow, Smote on the cages, and ended their song.

I saw three witches That sailed in a shallop, All turning their heads with a snickering smile, Till a bank of green osiers Concealed their grim faces, Though I heard them lamenting for many a mile.

I saw three witches Asleep in a valley, Their heads in a row, like stones in a flood, Till the moon, creeping upward, Looked white through the valley, And turned them to bushes in bright scarlet bud.

THE SILVER PENNY

"Sailorman, I'll give to you My bright silver penny, If out to sea you'll sail me And my dear sister Jenny."

"Get in, young sir, I'll sail ye And your dear sister Jenny, But pay she shall her golden locks Instead of your penny."

They sail away, they sail away, O fierce the winds blew! The foam flew in clouds, And dark the night grew!

And all the wild sea-water Climbed steep into the boat; Back to the shore again Sail they will not.

Drowned is the sailorman, Drowned is sweet Jenny, And drowned in the deep sea A bright silver penny.

THE RAINBOW

I saw the lovely arch Of Rainbow span the sky, The gold sun burning As the rain swept by.

In bright-ringed solitude The showery foliage shone One lovely moment, And the Bow was gone.

THE FAIRIES DANCING

I heard along the early hills, Ere yet the lark was risen up, Ere yet the dawn with firelight fills The night-dew of the bramble-cup,-- I heard the fairies in a ring Sing as they tripped a lilting round Soft as the moon on wavering wing. The starlight shook as if with sound, As if with echoing, and the stars Prankt their bright eyes with trembling gleams; While red with war the gusty Mars Rained upon earth his ruddy beams. He shone alone, low down the West, While I, behind a hawthorn-bush, Watched on the fairies flaxen-tressed The fires of the morning flush. Till, as a mist, their beauty died, Their singing shrill and fainter grew; And daylight tremulous and wide Flooded the moorland through and through; Till Urdon's copper weathercock Was reared in golden flame afar, And dim from moonlit dreams awoke The towers and groves of Arroar.

REVERIE

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

Each narrow hoof is lifted high Beneath the dark enclustering pines, A silver ray within his bit And bridle shines.

His eye burns deep, his tail is arched, And streams upon the shadowy air, The daylight sleeks his jetty flanks, His mistress' hair.

Her habit flows in darkness down, Upon the stirrup rests her foot, Her brow is lifted, as if earth She heeded not.

'Tis silent in the avenue, The sombre pines are mute of song, The blue is dark, there moves no breeze The boughs among.

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

THE THREE BEGGARS

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

The daybreak lighted up her face All pink, and sharp, and emerald-eyed; She looked on them a little space, And shrill as hautboy cried:--

"O three tall footsore men of rags Which walking this gold morn I see, What will ye give me from your bags For fairy kisses three?"

The first, that was a reddish man, Out of his bundle takes a crust: "La, by the tombstones of St. Ann, There's fee, if fee ye must!"

The second, that was a chestnut man, Out of his bundle draws a bone: "Lo, by the belfry of St. Ann, And all my breakfast gone!"

The third, that was a yellow man, Out of his bundle picks a groat, "La, by the Angel of St. Ann, And I must go without."

That changeling, lean and icy-lipped, Touched crust, and bone, and groat, and lo! Beneath her finger taper-tipped The magic all ran through.

Instead of crust a peacock pie, Instead of bone sweet venison, Instead of groat a white lily With seven blooms thereon.

And each fair cup was deep with wine: Such was the changeling's charity, The sweet feast was enough for nine, But not too much for three.

O toothsome meat in jelly froze! O tender haunch of elfin stag! O rich the odour that arose! O plump with scraps each bag!

There, in the daybreak gold and wild, Each merry-hearted beggar man Drank deep unto the fairy child, And blessed the good St. Ann.

THE DWARF

"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,-- He hates little girls that are rude, are rude, He hates little girls that are rude."

Jane tapped at the door of the house in the wood, And the dwarf looked over the wall, He eyed her so queer, 'twas as much as she could To keep from laughing at all, at all, To keep from laughing at all.

His shoes down the passage came clod, clod, clod, And when he opened the door, He croaked so harsh, 'twas as much as she could To keep from laughing the more, the more, To keep from laughing the more.

As there, with his bushy red beard, he stood, Pricked out to double its size, He squinted so cross, 'twas as much as she could To keep the tears out of her eyes, her eyes, To keep the tears out of her eyes.

He slammed the door, and went clod, clod, clod, But while in the porch she bides, He squealed so fierce, 'twas as much as she could To keep from cracking her sides, her sides, To keep from cracking her sides.

He threw a pumpkin over the wall, And melons and apples beside, So thick in the air that to see them all fall, She laughed, and laughed, till she cried, cried, cried; Jane laughed and laughed till she cried.

Down fell her teardrops a pit-apat-pat, And red as a rose she grew;-- "Kah! kah," said the dwarf, "is it crying you're at? It's the very worst thing you could do, do, do, It's the very worst thing you could do."

He slipped like a monkey up into a tree, He shook her down cherries like rain; "See now," says he, cheeping, "a blackbird I be, Laugh, laugh, little Jinnie, again--gain--gain, Laugh, laugh, little Jinnie, again."

Ah me! what a strange, what a gladsome duet From a house in the deeps of a wood! Such shrill and such harsh voices never met yet A-laughing as loud as they could, could, could, A-laughing as loud as they could.

Come Jinnie, come dwarf, cocksparrow, and bee, There's a ring gaudy-green in the dell, Sing, sing, ye sweet cherubs, that flit in the tree; La! who can draw tears from a well, well, well, Who ever drew tears from a well!

ALULVAN

The sun is clear of bird and cloud, The grass shines windless, grey and still, In dusky ruin the owl dreams on, The cuckoo echoes on the hill; Yet soft along Alulvan's walks The ghost at noonday stalks.

His eyes in shadow of his hat Stare on the ruins of his house; His cloak, up-fastened with a brooch, Of faded velvet grey as mouse, Brushes the roses as he goes: Yet wavers not one rose.

The wild birds in a cloud fly up From their sweet feeding in the fruit; The droning of the bees and flies Rises gradual as a lute; Is it for fear the birds are flown, And shrills the insect-drone?

Thick is the ivy over Alulvan, And crisp with summer-heat its turf; Far, far across its empty pastures Alulvan's sands are white with surf: And he himself is grey as the sea, Watching beneath an elder-tree.

All night the fretful, shrill Banshee Lurks in the ivy's dark festoons, Calling for ever, o'er garden and river, Through magpie changing of the moons: "Alulvan, O, alas! Alulvan, The doom of lone Alulvan!"

THE PEDLAR

There came a pedlar to an evening house; Sweet Lettice, from her lattice looking down, Wondered what man he was, so curious His black hair dangled on his tattered gown: Then lifts he up his face, with glittering eyes,-- "What will you buy, sweetheart?--Here's honeycomb, And mottled pippins, and sweet mulberry pies, Comfits and peaches, snowy cherry bloom, To keep in water for to make night sweet: All that you want, sweetheart,--come, taste and eat!"

Even with his sugared words, returned to her The clear remembrance of a gentle voice: "And O! my child, should ever a flatterer Tap with his wares, and promise of all joys, And vain sweet pleasures that on earth may be, Seal up your ears, sing some old happy song, Confuse his magic who is all mockery: His sweets are death." Yet, still how she doth long But just to taste, then shut the lattice tight, And hide her eyes from the delicious sight!

"What must I pay?" she whispered. "Pay!" says he, "Pedlar I am who through this wood to roam, One lock of her hair is gold enough for me, For apple, peach, comfit, or honeycomb!" But from her bough a drowsy squirrel cried, "Trust him not, Lettice, trust, oh trust him not!" And many another woodland tongue beside Rose softly in the silence--"Trust him not!" Then cried the Pedlar in a bitter voice, "What, in the thicket, is this idle noise?"

A late, harsh blackbird smote him with her wings, As through the glade, dark in the dim, she flew; Yet still the Pedlar his old burden sings,-- "What, pretty sweetheart, shall I show to you? Here's orange ribands, here's a string of pearls, Here's silk of buttercup and pansy glove, A pin of tortoiseshell for windy curls, A box of silver, scented sweet with clove: Come now," he says, with dim and lifted face, "I pass not often such a lonely place."

"Pluck not a hair!" a hidden rabbit cried, "With but one hair he'll steal thy heart away, Then only sorrow shall thy lattice hide: Go in! all honest pedlars come by day." There was dead silence in the drowsy wood; "Here's syrup for to lull sweet maids to sleep; And bells for dreams, and fairy wine and food All day thy heart in happiness to keep";-- And now she takes the scissors on her thumb,-- "O, then, no more unto my lattice come!"

Sad is the sound of weeping in the wood! Now only night is where the Pedlar was; And bleak as frost upon a quickling bud His magic steals in darkness, O alas! Why all the summer doth sweet Lettice pine? And, ere the wheat is ripe, why lies her gold Hid 'neath fresh new-plucked sprigs of eglantine? Why all the morning hath the cuckoo tolled, Sad, to and fro, in green and secret ways, With solemn bells the burden of his days?

And, in the market-place, what man is this Who wears a loop of gold upon his breast, Stuck heartwise; and whose glassy flatteries Take all the townsfolk ere they go to rest Who come to buy and gossip? Doth his eye Remember a face lovely in a wood? O people! hasten, hasten, do not buy His woeful wares; the bird of grief doth brood There where his heart should be; and far away There mourns long sorrowfulness this happy day.

THE OGRE

'Tis moonlight on Trebarwith Vale, And moonlight on an Ogre keen, Who, prowling hungry through the dale, A lone cottage hath seen.

Small, with thin smoke ascending up, Three casements and a door-- The Ogre eager is to tap, And here seems dainty store.

Sweet as a larder to a mouse, So to him staring down, Seemed the small-windowed moonlit house, With jasmine overgrown.

He snorted, as the billows snort In darkness of the night; Betwixt his lean locks tawny-swart, He glowered on the sight.

Into the garden sweet with peas He put his wooden shoe, And bending back the apple trees Crept covetously through;

Then, stooping, with a gloating eye Stared through the lattice small, And spied two children which did lie Asleep, against the wall.

Into their dreams no shadow fell Of his disastrous thumb Groping discreet, and gradual, Across the quiet room.

But scarce his nail had scraped the cot Wherein these children lay, As if his malice were forgot, It suddenly did stay.

For faintly in the ingle-nook He heard a cradle-song, That rose into his thoughts and woke Terror them among.

For she who in the kitchen sat Darning by the fire, Guileless of what he would be at, Sang sweet as wind or wire:--

"Lullay, thou little tiny child, By-by, lullay, lullie; Jesu in glory, meek and mild, This night remember thee!

"Fiend, witch, and goblin, foul and wild, He deems them smoke to be; Lullay, thou little tiny child, By-by, lullay, lullie!"

The Ogre lifted up his eyes Into the moon's pale ray, And gazed upon her leopard-wise, Cruel and clear as day;

He snarled in gluttony and fear-- "The wind blows dismally-- Jesu in storm my lambs be near, By-by, lullay, lullie!"

And like a ravenous beast which sees The hunter's icy eye, So did this wretch in wrath confess Sweet Jesu's mastery.

Lightly he drew his greedy thumb From out that casement pale, And strode, enormous, swiftly home, Whinnying down the dale.

DAME HICKORY

"Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory, Here's sticks for your fire, Furze-twigs, and oak-twigs, And beech-twigs, and briar!" But when old Dame Hickory came for to see, She found 'twas the voice of the False Faerie.

"Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory, Here's meat for your broth, Goose-flesh, and hare's flesh, And pig's trotters both!" But when old Dame Hickory came for to see, She found 'twas the voice of the False Faerie.

"Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory, Here's a wolf at your door, His teeth grinning white, And his tongue wagging sore!" "Nay!" said Dame Hickory, "ye False Faerie! But a wolf 'twas indeed, and famished was he.

"Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory, Here's buds for your tomb, Bramble, and lavender, And rosemary bloom!" "Wh-s-st!" said Dame Hickory, "ye False Faerie, Ye cry like a wolf, ye do, and trouble poor me."

THE PILGRIM

"Shall we carry now your bundle, You old grey man? Over hill and dale and meadow Lighter than an owlet's shadow We will whirl it through the air, Through blue regions shrill and bare, So you may in comfort fare-- Shall we carry now your bundle, You old grey man?"

The Pilgrim lifted up his eyes And saw three fiends, in the skies, Stooping o'er that lonely place Evil in form and face.

"Nay," he answered, "leave me, leave me, Ye three wild fiends! Far it is my feet must wander, And my city lieth yonder I must bear my bundle alone, Till the day be done." The fiends stared down with leaden eye, Fanning the chill air duskily, 'Twixt their hoods they stoop and cry:--

"Shall we smooth the path before you, You old grey man? Sprinkle it green with gilded showers, Strew it o'er with painted flowers, Lure bright birds to sing and flit In the honeyed airs of it? Shall we smooth the path before you, Grey old man?"

"O, 'tis better silence, silence, Ye three wild fiends! Footsore am I, faint and weary, Dark the way, forlorn and dreary, Beaten of wind, torn of briar, Smitten of rain, parched with fire: O, silence, silence, silence, Ye three wild fiends!"

It seemed a smoke obscured the air, Bright lightning quivered in the gloom, And a faint voice of thunder spake Far in the lone hill-hollows--"Come!" Then, half in fury, half in dread, The fiends drew closer down, and said:

"Nay, thou stubborn fond old man, Hearken awhile! Thorn, and dust, and ice and heat, Tarry now, sit down and eat: Heat, and ice, and dust and thorn; Stricken, footsore, parched, forlorn-- Juice of purple grape shall be Youth and solace unto thee. Music of tambour, wire and wind, Ease shall bring to heart and mind; Wonderful sweet mouths shall sigh Languishing and lullaby; Turn then! Curse the dream that lures thee; Turn thee, ere too late it be, Lest thy three true friends grow weary Of comforting thee!"

The Pilgrim crouches terrified As stooping hood, and glassy face, Gloating, evil, side by side, Terror and hate brood o'er the place; He flings his withered hands on high With a bitter, breaking cry:-- "Leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me, Ye three wild fiends! If I lay me down in slumber, Then I lay me down in wrath; If I stir not in dark dreaming, Then I wither in my path; If I hear sweet voices singing, 'Tis a demon's lullaby: And, in 'hideous storm and terror,' Wake but to die."

And even as he spake, on high Arrows of sunlight pierced the sky. Bright streamed the rain. O'er burning snow From hill to hill a wondrous bow Of colour and fire trembled in air, Painting its heavenly beauty there. Wild flapped each fiend a batlike hood Against that 'frighting light, and stood Beating the windless rain, and then Rose heavy and slow with cowering head, Circled in company again, And into darkness fled.

Marvellous sweet it was to hear The waters gushing loud and clear; Marvellous happy it was to be Alone, and yet not solitary; Oh, out of terror and dark to come In sight of home!

THE GAGE

"Lady Jane, O Lady Jane! Your hound hath broken bounds again, And chased my timorous deer, O; If him I see, That hour he'll dee; My brakes shall be his bier, O."

"Hoots! lord, speak not so proud to me! My hound, I trow, is fleet and free, He's welcome to your deer, O; Shoot, shoot you may, He'll gang his way, Your threats we nothing fear, O."