Alas, Alack!

Ann, Ann!
    Come! Quick as you can!
There's a fish that talks
    In the frying-pan.
Out of the fat,
    As clear as glass,
He put up his mouth
    And moaned 'Alas!'
Oh, most mournful,
    'Alas, alack!'
Then turned to his sizzling,
    And sank him back.

Walter De La Mare

Walter De La Mare was an English poet, short story writer, and novelist, best remembered for his works for children and his poem "The Listeners". Born in 1873 in Charlton, Kent, De La Mare's unique blend of haunting, dreamlike imagery and masterful command of language earned him a lasting place in English literature. He was awarded the Order of Merit in 1953, and his works continue to be celebrated for their ethereal and evocative quality.

Walter De La Mare

Old Ben

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

They Told Me

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Buckle

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Mistress Fell

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

English

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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-fasten'd 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 o'er Alulvan,
And crisp with summer-heat its turf;
Far, far across its empty pastures
Alulvan's sa...

Walter De La Mare

A Fish Story.

Sir Arthur, the sinner,
Ate twelve fish for dinner,
And you may believe it's just as I say!
For if you but knew it,
'Twas I saw him do it,
And just as it happened, sir, this was the way:
One day this tall fish
Swallowed this small fish
(He had just eaten a smaller one still);
Up came this queer one
And gobbled that 'ere one--
Didn't he show the most magical skill?
Then came this other
And chewed up his brother,
Made but one gulp, and behold he was through!
He was a gold fish
Oh! he was a bold fish--
But before he could wink he was eaten up too!
Up came a flounder,
He was a ten-pounder,
Opened his mouth, swallowed him and was gone;
Before you could blink, sir,
Before he could shrink, sir,
This fish came by and th...

Clara Doty Bates

The Grey Wolf

'A fagot, a fagot, go fetch for the fire, son!'
    'O, Mother, the wolf looks in at the door!'
'Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! thou fierce grey wolf fly, now;
    Haste thee away, he will fright thee no more.'

'I ran, O, I ran, but the grey wolf ran faster,
    O, Mother, I cry in the air at thy door,
Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! but his fangs were so cruel,
    Thy son (save his hatchet) thou'lt never see more.'

Walter De La Mare

Lob Lie By The Fire

He squats by the fire
    On his three-legged stool,
When all in the house
    With slumber are full.

And he warms his great hands,
    Hanging loose from each knee.
And he whistles as soft
    As the night wind at sea.

For his work now is done;
    All the water is sweet;
He has turned each brown loaf,
    And breathed magic on it.

The milk in the pan,
    And the bacon on beam
He has "spelled" with his thumb,
    And bewitched has the dream.

Not a mouse, not a moth,
    Not a spider but sat,
And quaked as it wondered
    What next he'd be at.

But his heart, O, his heart -
    It belies his great nose;
And at gleam of his eye
    Not a soul would suppose

He had stooped with great thum...

Walter De La Mare

At The Keyhole

'Grill me some bones,' said the Cobbler,
    'Some bones, my pretty Sue;
I'm tired of my lonesome with heels and soles,
Springsides and uppers too;
A mouse in the wainscot is nibbling;
A wind in the keyhole drones;
And a sheet webbed over my candle, Susie, - -
    Grill me some bones!'

'Grill me some bones,' said the Cobbler,
    I sat at my tic-tac-to;
And a footstep came to my door and stopped,
And a hand groped to and fro;
And I peered up over my boot and last;
And my feet went cold as stones:
I saw an eye at the keyhole, Susie! - -
    Grill me some bones!'

Walter De La Mare

Perch-Fishing

On the far hill the cloud of thunder grew
And sunlight blurred below; but sultry blue
Burned yet on the valley water where it hoards
Behind the miller's elmen floodgate boards,
And there the wasps, that lodge them ill-concealed
In the vole's empty house, still drove afield
To plunder touchwood from old crippled trees
And build their young ones their hutched nurseries;
Still creaked the grasshoppers' rasping unison
Nor had the whisper through the tansies run
Nor weather-wisest bird gone home.
                How then
Should wry eels in the pebbled shallows ken
Lightning coming? troubled up they stole
To the deep-shadowed sullen water-hole,
Among whose warty snags the quaint perch lair.
As cunning stole the boy to angle there,
Muffling least tread, with no ...

Edmund Blunden