Miss T.

It's a very odd thing - - -
    As odd as can be - -
That whatever Miss T. eats
    Turns into Miss T.;
Porridge and apples,
    Mince, muffins and mutton,
Jam, junket, jumbles - -
    Not a rap, not a button
It matters; the moment
    They're out of her plate,
Though shared by Miss Butcher
    And sour Mr. Bate;
Tiny and cheerful,
    And neat as can be,
Whatever Miss T. eats
    Turns into Miss T.

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

The Supper

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Barber's

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Empty House

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Three Strangers

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

English

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Twopenny Post-Bag, Intercepted Letters, Etc. Letter III.

FROM GEORGE PRINCE REGENT TO THE EARL OF YARMOUTH.^[1]


We missed you last night at the "hoary old sinner's,"
Who gave us as usual the cream of good dinners;
His soups scientific, his fishes quite prime--
His pâtés superb, and his cutlets sublime!
In short, 'twas the snug sort of dinner to stir a
Stomachic orgasm in my Lord Ellenborough,
Who set to, to be sure, with miraculous force,
And exclaimed between mouthfuls, "a He-Cook, of course!--
"While you live--(what's there under that cover? pray, look)--
"While you live--(I'll just taste it)--ne'er keep a She-Cook.
"'Tis a sound Salic Law--(a small bit of that toast)--
"Which ordains that a female shall ne'er rule the roast;
"For Cookery's a secret--(this turtle's uncommon)--

Thomas Moore

Berries

There was an old woman
    Went blackberry picking
Along the hedges
    From Weep to Wicking.
Half a pottle -
    No more she had got,
When out steps a Fairy
    From her green grot;
And says, "Well, Jill,
    Would 'ee pick 'ee mo?"
And Jill, she curtseys,
    And looks just so.
"Be off," says the Fairy,
    "As quick as you can,
Over the meadows
    To the little green lane,
That dips to the hayfields
    Of Farmer Grimes:
I've berried those hedges
    A score of times;
Bushel on bushel
    I'll promise 'ee, Jill,
This side of supper
    If 'ee pick with a will."
She glints very bright,
    And speaks her fair;
Then lo, and behold!
    She has faded in air.

Be sure old Goodie
    She trot...

Walter De La Mare

Berries

There was an old woman
    Went blackberry picking
Along the hedges
    From Weep to Wicking. -
Half a pottle-
    No more she had got,
When out steps a Fairy
    From her green grot;
And says, 'Well, Jill,
    Would 'ee pick ee mo?'
And Jill, she curtseys,
    And looks just so.
Be off,' says the Fairy,
    'As quick as you can,
Over the meadows
    To the little green lane
That dips to the hayfields
    Of Farmer Grimes:
I've berried those hedges
    A score of times;
Bushel on bushel
    I'll promise'ee, Jill,
This side of supper
    If'ee pick with a will.'
She glints very bright,
    And speaks her fair;
Then lo, and behold!
    She had faded in air.

Be sure Old Goodie
    She trots be...

Walter De La Mare

The Cupboard

I know a little cupboard,
With a teeny tiny key,
And there's a jar of Lollypops
    For me, me, me.

It has a little shelf, my dear,
As dark as dark can be,
And there's a dish of Banbury Cakes
    For me, me, me.

I have a small fat grandmamma,
With a very slippery knee,
And she's the Keeper of the Cupboard
    With the key, key, key.

And I'm very good, my dear,
As good as good can be,
There's Branbury Cakes, and Lollypops
    For me, me, me.

Walter De La Mare

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

Miss Loo

When thin-strewn memory I look through,
I see most clearly poor Miss Loo,
Her tabby cat, her cage of birds,
Her nose, her hair - her muffled words,
And how she'd open her green eyes,
As if in some immense surprise,
Whenever as we sat at tea
She made some small remark to me.

It's always drowsy summer when
From out the past she comes again;
The westering sunshine in a pool
Floats in her parlour still and cool;
While the slim bird its lean wires shakes,
As into piercing song it breaks;
Till Peter's pale-green eyes ajar
Dream, wake; wake, dream, in one brief bar.

And I am sitting, dull and shy,
And she with gaze of vacancy,
And large hands folded on the tray,
Musing the afternoon away;
Her satin bosom heaving slow
With sighs th...

Walter De La Mare