Five Eyes

In Hans' old Mill his three black cats
Watch the bins for the thieving rats.
Whisker and claw, they crouch in the night,
Their five eyes smouldering green and bright:
Squeaks from the flour sacks, squeaks from where
The cold wind stirs on the empty stair,
Squeaking and scampering, everywhere.
Then down they pounce, now in, now out,
At whisking tail, and sniffing snout;
While lean old Hans he snores away
Till peep of light at break of day;
Then up he climbs to his creaking mill,
Out come his cats all grey with meal -
Jekkel, and Jessup, and one-eyed Jill.

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

Where?

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Trees

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Quartette

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Song Of Enchantment

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Before Bedtime

        The cat sleeps in a chimney jam
            With ashes in her fur,
        An' Tige, from on the yuther side,
            He keeps his eye on her.

        The jar o' curds is on the hearth,
            An' I'm the one to turn it.
        I'll crawl in bed an' go to sleep
            When maw begins to churn it.

        Paw bends to read his almanax
            An' study out the weather,
        An' bud has got a gourd o' grease
            To ile his harness leather.

        Sis looks an' looks into the fire,
            Half-squintin' through her lashes,
        An' I jis watch my tater where
            It shoots smoke through the ashes.

John Charles McNeill

The Little Creature

Twinkum, twankum, twirlum and twitch
My great grandam - She was a Witch.
Mouse in wainscot, Saint in niche -
My great grandam - She was a Witch;
Deadly nightshade flowers in a ditch -
My great grandam - She was a Witch;
Long though the shroud it grows stitch by stitch -
My great grandam - She was a Witch;
Wean your weakling before you breech -
My great grandam - She was a Witch;
The fattest pig's but a double flitch -
My great grandam - She was a Witch;
Nightjars rattle, owls scritch -
My great grandam - She was a Witch.

    Pretty and small,
    A mere nothing at all,
    Pinned up sharp in the ghost of a shawl,
    She'd straddle her down to the kirkyard wall,
    And mutter and whisper and call; and call -
    And - call.

Red...

Walter De La Mare

Old Dame And Cats.

        He who holds friendship with a knave,
        Will reputation hardly save;
        And thus upon our choice of friends
        Our good or evil name depends.

        A wrinkled hag - of naughty fame -
        Sat hovering o'er a flickering flame,
        Propped with both hands upon her knees
        She shook with palsy and the breeze.
        She had perhaps seen fourscore years,
        And backwards said her daily prayers;
        Her troop of cats with hunger mewed, -
        Tabbies and toms, a numerous brood.
        Teased with their murmuring, out she flew
        In angry passion: "Hence, ye crew! -
        What made me take to keeping cats?
        Ye are as bad as bawling brats:
        With brats I might perhaps have grown rich;

John Gay

Gammer Gaffer - A Ballad Of Gloucester

I.

One night when trees were tumbled down,
And wild winds shook at sea the sail,
Old Gammer Gaffer, lean and brown,
Chuckled and whistled on her nail;
Then seized her broom and, mounting it,
Flew up the chimney with her cat;
All Dogtown bayed to see her flit,
The screech-owl shrieked, and, lightning-lit,
About her head flew black the bat.

II.

Her crow-like body, humped and black,
Seemed part and portion of her broom;
The black cat, crouched upon her back,
Lit with its yellow eyes the gloom.
Towards Gloucester Town she took her flight,
And night grew wilder as she went;
The wind blew out the fisher's light,
And tore his sails in tatters white,
And strewed them through the firmament.

III.

Old shutters clappe...

Madison Julius Cawein

The Colubriad.

Close by the threshold of a door naild fast
Three kittens sat; each kitten lookd aghast.
I, passing swift and inattentive by,
At the three kittens cast a careless eye;
Not much concernd to know what they did there;
Not deeming kittens worth a poets care.
But presently a loud and furious hiss
Caused me to stop and to exclaim, Whats this?
When lo! upon the threshold met my view
With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue,
A viper long as Count de Grasses queue.
Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws,
Darting it full against a kittens nose;
Who, having never seen, in field or house,
The like, sat still and silent as a mouse;
Only projecting with attention due,
Her whiskerd face, she asked him, Who are you?
On to the hall went I, with pace not...

William Cowper

Sad Memories.

They tell me I am beautiful: they praise my silken hair,
My little feet that silently slip on from stair to stair:
They praise my pretty trustful face and innocent grey eye;
Fond hands caress me oftentimes, yet would that I might die!

Why was I born to be abhorr'd of man and bird and beast?
The bulfinch marks me stealing by, and straight his song hath ceased;
The shrewmouse eyes me shudderingly, then flees; and, worse than that,
The housedog he flees after me - why was I born a cat?

Men prize the heartless hound who quits dry-eyed his native land;
Who wags a mercenary tail and licks a tyrant hand.
The leal true cat they prize not, that if e'er compell'd to roam
Still flies, when let out of the bag, precipitately home.

They call me cruel. Do I know if mouse or so...

Charles Stuart Calverley