Collected Poems 1901-1918 in Two Volumes Volume II.   By: Walter De la Mare (1873-1956)

1901 1918

BY

WALTER DE LA MARE

IN TWO VOLUMES

VOL. II

1920

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.]

SONGS OF CHILDHOOD: 1901

TO JILL

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