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 see the ghost of me
    A-dancing there again.

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

Miss Loo

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

England

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Alone

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Old Susan

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

English

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Off The Ground

Three jolly Farmers
Once bet a pound
Each dance the others would
Off the ground.
Out of their coats
They slipped right soon,
And neat and nicesome,
Put each his shoon.
One - Two - Three! -
And away they go,
Not too fast,
And not too slow;
Out from the elm-tree's
Noonday shadow,
Into the sun
And across the meadow.
Past the schoolroom,
With knees well bent
Fingers a-flicking,
They dancing went.
Up sides and over,
And round and round,
They crossed click-clacking,
The Parish bound,
By Tupman's meadow
They did their mile,
Tee-t-tum
On a three-barred stile.
Then straight through Whipham,
Downhill to Week,
Footing it lightsome,
But not too quick,
Up fields to Watchet,
And on through ...

Walter De La Mare

Off The Ground

Three jolly Farmers
    Once bet a pound
Each dance the others would
    Off the ground.
Out of their coats
    They slipped right soon,
And neat and nicesome
    Put each his shoon.
One - Two - Three! -
    And away they go,
Not too fast,
    And not too slow;
Out from the elm-tree's
    Noonday shadow,
Into the sun
    And across the meadow.
Past the schoolroom,
    With knees well bent
Fingers a-flicking,
    They dancing went.
Up sides and over,
    And round and round,
They crossed click-clacking,
    The Parish bound,
By Tupman's meadow
    They did their mile,
Tee-to-tum
    On a three-barred stile.
Then straight through Whipham,
    Downhill to Week,
Footing it lightsome,
    Bu...

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

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

Bewitched

I have heard a lady this night,
    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
Nought 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:

Walter De La Mare

The Unfinished Dream

Rare-sweet the air in that unimagined country -
    My spirit had wandered far
From its weary body close-enwrapt in slumber
    Where its home and earth-friends are;
A milk-like air - and of light all abundance;
    And there a river clear
Painting the scene like a picture on its bosom,
    Green foliage drifting near.

No sign of life I saw, as I pressed onward,
    Fish, nor beast, nor bird,
Till I came to a hill clothed in flowers to its summit,
    Then shrill small voices I heard.

And I saw from concealment a company of elf-folk
    With faces strangely fair,
Talking their unearthly scattered talk together,
    A bind of green-grasses in their hair,

Marvellously gentle, feater far than children,
    In gesture, mien and speech,
...

Walter De La Mare