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The Listeners and Other Poems By: Walter De la Mare (1873-1956) |
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AND OTHER POEMS by WALTER DE LA MARE [Illustration] New York
Henry Holt and Company
The author's thanks for permission to reprint certain of the poems
included in this collection are due to the Editors of the Saturday
Review , the Thrush , the Pall Mall Magazine , the Odd Volume , the
Lady's Realm , the English Review , the Westminster Gazette , the
Commonwealth , and the Nation .
CONTENTS
PAGE THE THREE CHERRY TREES 1 OLD SUSAN 3 OLD BEN 5 MISS LOO 7 THE TAILOR 9 MARTHA 10 THE SLEEPER 12 THE KEYS OF MORNING 14 RACHEL 16 ALONE 17 THE BELLS 19 THE SCARECROW 21 NOD 23 THE BINDWEED 25 WINTER 26 THERE BLOOMS NO BUD IN MAY 27 NOON AND NIGHT FLOWER 29 ESTRANGED 30 THE TIRED CUPID 31 DREAMS 32 FAITHLESS 33 THE SHADE 34 BE ANGRY NOW NO MORE 35 SPRING 36 EXILE 37 WHERE? 38 MUSIC UNHEARD 39 ALL THAT'S PAST 41 WHEN THE ROSE IS FADED 43 SLEEP 44 THE STRANGER 45 NEVER MORE, SAILOR 47 THE WITCH 49 ARABIA 52 THE MOUNTAINS 54 QUEEN DJENIRA 55 NEVER TO BE 57 THE DARK CHATEAU 59 THE DWELLING PLACE 61 THE LISTENERS 64 TIME PASSES 66 BEWARE! 68 THE JOURNEY 69 HAUNTED 74 SILENCE 76 WINTER DUSK 78 AGES AGO 80 HOME 82 THE GHOST 84 AN EPITAPH 85 'THE HAWTHORN HATH A DEATHLY SMELL' 86
THE THREE CHERRY TREES
There were three cherry trees once,
Grew in a garden all shady;
And there for delight of so gladsome a sight,
Walked a most beautiful lady,
Dreamed a most beautiful lady. Birds in those branches did sing,
Blackbird and throstle and linnet,
But she walking there was by far the most fair
Lovelier than all else within it,
Blackbird and throstle and linnet. But blossoms to berries do come,
All hanging on stalks light and slender,
And one long summer's day charmed that lady away,
With vows sweet and merry and tender;
A lover with voice low and tender. Moss and lichen the green branches deck;
Weeds nod in its paths green and shady:
Yet a light footstep seems there to wander in dreams,
The ghost of that beautiful lady,
That happy and beautiful lady.
OLD SUSAN
When Susan's work was done she'd sit,
With one fat guttering candle lit,
And window opened wide to win
The sweet night air to enter in;
There, with a thumb to keep her place
She'd read, with stern and wrinkled face,
Her mild eyes gliding very slow
Across the letters to and fro,
While wagged the guttering candle flame
In the wind that through the window came.
And sometimes in the silence she
Would mumble a sentence audibly,
Or shake her head as if to say,
'You silly souls, to act this way!'
And never a sound from night I'd hear,
Unless some far off cock crowed clear;
Or her old shuffling thumb should turn
Another page; and rapt and stern,
Through her great glasses bent on me
She'd glance into reality;
And shake her round old silvery head,
With 'You! I thought you was in bed!'
Only to tilt her book again,
And rooted in Romance remain... Continue reading book >>
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Literature |
Poetry |
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