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Walter de la Mare

Walter de la Mare

Fare Well

When I lie where shades of darkness
Shall no more assail mine eyes,
Nor the rain make lamentation
When the wind sighs;
How will fare the world whose wonder
Was the very proof of me?
Memory fades, must the remembered
Perishing be?
 
Oh, when this my dust surrenders
Hand, foot, lip, to dust again,
May these loved and loving faces
Please other men!
May the rusting harvest hedgerow
Still the Traveller’s Joy entwine,
And as happy children gather
Posies once mine.
 
Look thy last on all things lovely,
Every hour. Let no night
Seal thy sense in deathly slumber
Till to delight
Thou have paid thy utmost blessing;
Since that all things thou wouldst praise
Beauty took from those who loved them
In other days.

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Autres oeuvres par Walter de la Mare...
At Ease

Most wounds can Time repair; But some are mortal—these: For a broken heart there is no bal… No cure for a heart at ease— At ease, but cold as stone,
Sleep

When all, and birds, and creeping… When the dark of night is deep, From the moving wonder of their li… Commit themselves to sleep. Without a thought, or fear, they s…
November

THERE is wind where the rose was… Cold rain where sweet grass was, And clouds like sheep Stream o’er the steep Grey skies where the lark was.
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The Three Strangers

Far are those tranquil hills, Dyed with fair evening’s rose; On urgent, secret errand bent, A traveller goes. Approach him strangers three,
Winter

Clouded with snow The cold winds blow, And shrill on leafless bough The robin with its burning breast Alone sings now.
The Widow

Grief hath pacified her face; Even hope might share so still a p… Yet, on the silence of her heart, Haply, if a strange footfall start… Or a chance word of ecstasy
The Mother Bird

Through the green twilight of a he… I peered, with cheek on the cool l… And spied a bird upon a nest: Two eyes she had beseeching me Meekly and brave, and her brown br…
The World of Dream

Now, through the dusk With muffled bell The Dustman comes The World to tell, Night’s elfin lanterns
All That’s Past

Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier’s boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are—
The Huntsmen

Three jolly gentlemen, In coats of red, Rode their horses Up to bed. Three jolly gentlemen
Up and Down

Down the Hill of Ludgate, Up the Hill of Fleet, To and fro and East and West With people flows the street; Even the King of England
Concert for flute with Frederick the Great in Sanssouci, by Adolph Menzel
Music

When music sounds, gone is the ear… And all her lovely things even lov… Her flowers in vision flame, her f… Lift burdened branches, stilled wi… When music sounds, out of the wate…
The Seas of England

The seas of England are our old d… Let the loud billow of the shingly… Sing freedom on her breezes evermo… To all earth’s ships that sailing… The gaunt sea-nettle be our fortit…
Gloria Mundi

Upon a bank, easeless with knobs o… Beneath a canopy of noonday smoke, I saw a measureless Beast, morose… With eyes like one from filthy dre… Who stares upon the daylight in de…
The Keys of Morning

While at her bedroom window once, Learning her task for school, Little Louisa lonely sat In the morning clear and cool, She slanted her small bead-brown e…



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