Longlegs

Longlegs - he yelled "Coo-ee!"
    And all across the combe
Shrill and shrill it rang - rang through
    The clear green gloom.
Fairies there were a-spinning,
    And a white tree-maid
Lifted her eyes, and listened
    In her rain-sweet glade.
Bunnie to bunnie stamped; old Wat
    Chin-deep in bracken sate;
A throstle piped, "I'm by, I'm by!"
    Clear to his timid mate.
And there was Longlegs straddling,
    And hearkening was he,
To distant Echo thrilling back
    A thin "Coo-ee!"

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

Tartary

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Falstaff

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Funeral

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Tillie

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

English

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Longlegs

Longlegs - he yelled 'Coo-ee!'
    And all across the combe
Shrill and shrill it rang - rang through
    The clear green gloom.
Fairies there were a-spinning,
    And a white tree-maid
Lifted her eyes, and listened
    In her rain-sweet glade.
Bunnie to bunnie stamped; old Wat
    Chin-deep in bracken sate;
A throstle piped, 'I'm by, I'm by!'
    Clear to his timid mate.
And there was Longlegs, straddling,
    And hearkening was he,
To distant Echo thrilling back
    A thin 'Coo-ee!'

Walter De La Mare

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 stoo...

Walter De La Mare

The Fairies Dancing

I heard along the early hills,
    Ere yet the lark was risen up,
Ere yet the dawn with firelight fills
    The night-dew of the bramble-cup, -
I heard the fairies in a ring
    Sing as they tripped a lilting round
Soft as the moon on wavering wing.
    The starlight shook as if with sound,
As if with echoing, and the stars
    Prankt their bright eyes with trembling gleams
While red with war the gusty Mars
    Rained upon earth his ruddy beams.
He shone alone, low down the West,
    While I, behind a hawthorn-bush,
Watched on the fairies flaxen-tressed
    The fires of the morning flush.
Till, as a mist, their beauty died,
    Their singing shrill and fainter grew;
And daylight tremulous and wide
    Flooded the moorland through and through;

Walter De La Mare

The Horn

Hark! is that a horn I hear,
    In cloudland winding sweet -
And bell-like clash of bridle-rein,
    And silver-shod light feet?

Is it the elfin laughter
    Of fairies riding faint and high,
Beneath the branches of the moon,
    Straying through the starry sky?

Is it in the globèd dew
    Such sweet melodies may fall?
Wood and valley - all are still,
    Hushed the shepherd's call.

Walter De La Mare

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.

Walter De La Mare

The Double

I curtseyed to the dovecote.
    I curtseyed to the well.
I twirled me round and round about,
    The morning sweets to smell.
When out I came from spinning so,
    Lo, betwixt green and blue
Was the ghost of me - a Fairy Child -
    A-dancing - dancing, too.

Nought was of her wearing
    That is the earth's array.
Her thistledown feet beat airy fleet
    Yet set no blade astray.
The gossamer shining dews of June
    Showed grey against the green;
Yet never so much as a bird-claw print
    Of footfall to be seen.

Fading in the mounting sun
    That image soon did pine.
Fainter than moonlight thinned the locks
    That shone as clear as mine.
Vanished! Vanished! O, sad it is
    To spin and spin - in vain;
And never to ...

Walter De La Mare