The Bees' Song

Thousandz of thornz there be
On the Rozez where gozez
The Zebra of Zee:
Sleek, striped, and hairy,
The steed of the Fairy
Princess of Zee.

Heavy with blossomz be
The Rozez that growzez
In the thickets of Zee.
Where grazez the Zebra,
Marked Abracadeeebra,
Of the Princess of Zee.

And he nozez that poziez
Of the Rozez that grozez
So luvez'm and free,
With an eye, dark and wary,
In search of a Fairy,
Whose Rozez he knowzez
Were not honeyed for he,
But to breathe a sweet incense
To solace the Princess
Of far-away Zee.

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

Cecil

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Thief At Robin's Castle

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Gage

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Portrait Of A Warrior

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

English

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The Honey Robbers

There were two Fairies, Gimmul and Mel,
Loved Earth Man's honey passing well;
Oft at the hives of his tame bees
They would their sugary thirst appease.
When even began to darken to night,
They would hie along in the fading light,
With elf-locked hair and scarlet lips,
And small stone knives to slit the skeps,
So softly not a bee inside
Should hear the woven straw divide.
And then with sly and greedy thumbs
Would rifle the sweet honeycombs.
And drowsily drone to drone would say,
"A cold, cold wind blows in this way";
And the great Queen would turn her head
From face to face, astonishèd,
And, though her maids with comb and brush
Would comb and soothe and whisper, "Hush!"
About the hive would shrilly go
A keening - keening, to and fro;
At whic...

Walter De La Mare

The Bee.

What time I paced, at pleasant morn,
A deep and dewy wood,
I heard a mellow hunting-horn
Make dim report of Dian's lustihood
Far down a heavenly hollow.
Mine ear, though fain, had pain to follow:
`Tara!' it twanged, `tara-tara!' it blew,
Yet wavered oft, and flew
Most ficklewise about, or here, or there,
A music now from earth and now from air.
But on a sudden, lo!
I marked a blossom shiver to and fro
With dainty inward storm; and there within
A down-drawn trump of yellow jessamine
A bee
Thrust up its sad-gold body lustily,
All in a honey madness hotly bound
On blissful burglary.
    A cunning sound
In that wing-music held me: down I lay
In amber shades of many a golden spray,
Where looping low with languid arms the Vine
In wreath...

Sidney Lanier

The Isle Of Lone

Three dwarfs there were which lived in an isle,
    And the name of that 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 they were made of the holly-wood,
    Their combs of the tortoise's shell,
Three basins of silver in corners there stood,
    And three little ewers as well.

Green rushes, green rushes lay thick on the floor,
    For light beamed a gobbet of wax;
There were three wooden stools for wh...

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

A Melody.

        I.

There be Fairies bright of eye,
Who the wild-flowers warders are;
There be Fairies subtlely
Nourished in a blossom's star;
Fairies tripping merrily
Singing in faint echoes far,
Singing fairy melodies
Murmured by the burly bees,
By the wild brown bees.


        II.

Well I wot that Fairies be there, -
Fairies, Fairies that at eve
Lurking in a blossom-lair,
In some rose-bud's scented hair
From white beams of starlight weave
Glinting gown and shining shoe.
I have proven sure and true
Fairies be there, fays of dew,
Lying laughing in its spark
Floating in a rose's sark;
Singing fairy melodies,
When asleep the dusty bees
Can not steal their melodies,
Fairy melodies.

Madison Julius Cawein

A Flower Garden - At Coleorton Hall, Leicestershire.

Tell me, ye Zephyrs! that unfold,
While fluttering o'er this gay Recess,
Pinions that fanned the teeming mould
Of Eden's blissful wilderness,
Did only softly-stealing hours
There close the peaceful lives of flowers?

Say, when the 'moving' creatures saw
All kinds commingled without fear,
Prevailed a like indulgent law
For the still growths that prosper here?
Did wanton fawn and kid forbear
The half-blown rose, the lily spare?

Or peeped they often from their beds
And prematurely disappeared,
Devoured like pleasure ere it spreads
A bosom to the sun endeared?
If such their harsh untimely doom,
It falls not 'here' on bud or bloom.

All summer long the happy Eve
Of this fair Spot her flowers may bind,
Nor e'er, with ruffled fancy...

William Wordsworth