Mima

Jemima is my name,
    But oh, I have another;
My father always calls me Meg,
    And so do Bob and mother;
Only my sister, jealous of
    The strands of my bright hair,
'Jemima - Mima - Mima!'
    Calls, mocking, up the stair.

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

Night

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Life

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Quarry

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Bees' Song

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.

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

Bewitched

,,
    Lissom and jimp and slim,
Calling me - calling me over the heather,
    'Neath the beech boughs dusk and dim.

I have followed a lady this night,
    Followed her far and lone,
Fox and adder and weasel know
    The ways that we have gone.

I sit at my supper 'mid honest faces,
    And crumble my crust and say
Naught in the long-drawn drawl of the voices
    Talking the hours away.

I'll go to my chamber under the gable,
    And the moon will lift her light
In at my lattice from over the moorland
    Hollow and still and bright.

And I know she will shine on a lady of witchcraft,
    Gladness and grief to see,
Who has taken my heart with her nimble fingers,
    Calls in my dreams to me;

Who has led me a dance...

Walter De La Mare

The Little Bird

My dear Daddie bought a mansion
    For to bring my Mammie to,
In a hat with a long feather,
    And a trailing gown of blue;
And a company of fiddlers
    And a rout of maids and men
Danced the clock round to the morning,
    In a gay house-warming then.
And when all the guests were gone, and
    All was still as still can be,
In from the dark ivy hopped a
    Wee small bird: and that was Me.

Walter De La Mare

The Isle Of Lone

Three dwarfs there were which lived on an isle,
    And the name of the isle was Lone,
And the names of the dwarfs were Alliolyle,
    Lallerie, Muziomone.

Alliolyle was green of een,
    Lallerie light of locks,
Muziomone was mild of mien,
    As ewes in April flocks.

Their house was small and sweet of the sea,
    And pale as the Malmsey wine;
Their bowls were three, and their beds were three,
    And their nightcaps white were nine.

Their beds were of the holly-wood,
    Their combs of the tortoiseshell,
Their mirrors clear as wintry flood,
    Frozen dark and snell.

So each would lie on his plumpy pillow,
    The moon for company,
And hear the parrot scream to the billow,
    And the billow roar reply. -

Su...

Walter De La Mare

The Dwarf

"Now, Jinnie, my dear, to the dwarf be off,
    That lives in Barberry Wood,
And fetch me some honey, but be sure you don't laugh, -
    He hates little girls that are rude, are rude,
    He hates little girls that are rude."

Jane tapped at the door of the house in the wood,
    And the dwarf looked over the wall,
He eyed her so queer, 'twas as much as she could
    To keep from laughing at all, at all,
    To keep from laughing at all.

His shoes down the passage came clod, clod, clod,
    And when he opened the door,
He croaked so harsh, 'twas as much as she could
    To keep from laughing the more, the more,
    To keep from laughing the more.

As there, with his bushy red beard, he stood,
    Pricked out to double its size,
He squinted...

Walter De La Mare

O Dear Me!

Here are crocuses, white, gold, grey!
    'O dear me!' says Marjorie May;
Flat as a platter the blackberry blows:
    'O dear me!' says Madeleine Rose;
The leaves are fallen, the swallows flown:
    'O dear me!' says Humphrey John;
Snow lies thick where all night it fell:
    'O dear me!' says Emmanuel.

Walter De La Mare