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 so cross, 'twas as much as she could
    To keep the tears out of her eyes, her eyes,
    To keep the tears out of her eyes.

He slammed the door, and went clod, clod, clod,
    But while in the porch she bides,
He squealed so fierce, 'twas as much as she could
    To keep from cracking her sides, her sides,
    To keep from cracking her sides.

He threw a pumpkin over the wall,
    And melons and apples beside,
So thick in the air that to see them all fall,
    She laughed, and laughed, till she cried, cried, cried;
    Jane laughed and laughed till she cried.

Down fell her teardrops a-pit-a-pat-pat,
    And red as a rose she grew; -
"Kah! kah," said the dwarf, "is it crying you're at?
    It's the very worst thing you could do, do, do,
    It's the very worst thing you could do."

He slipped like a monkey up into a tree,
    He shook her down cherries like rain;
"See now," says he, cheeping, "a blackbird I be,
    Laugh, laugh, little Jinnie, again - gain - gain,
    Laugh, laugh, little Jinnie, again."

Ah me! what a strange, what a gladsome duet
    From a house in the deeps of a wood!
Such shrill and such harsh voices never met yet
    A-laughing as loud as they could, could, could,
    A-laughing as loud as they could.

Come Jinnie, come dwarf, cocksparrow, and bee,
    There's a ring gaudy-green in the dell,
Sing, sing, ye sweet cherubs, that flit in the tree;
    La! who can draw tears from a well, well, well,
    Who ever drew tears from a well!

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

Nocturne

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

As Lucy Went A-Walking

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Nicholas Nye

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Jim Jay

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

English

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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

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...

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The Brown Dwarf Of Rugen

The pleasant isle of Rugen looks the Baltic water o'er,
To the silver-sanded beaches of the Pomeranian shore;

And in the town of Rambin a little boy and maid
Plucked the meadow-flowers together and in the sea-surf played.

Alike were they in beauty if not in their degree
He was the Amptman's first-born, the miller's child was she.

Now of old the isle of Rugen was full of Dwarfs and Trolls,
The brown-faced little Earth-men, the people without souls;

And for every man and woman in Rugen's island found
Walking in air and sunshine, a Troll was underground.

It chanced the little maiden, one morning, strolled away
Among the haunted Nine Hills, where the elves and goblins play.

That day, in barley-fields below, the harvesters had known
Of evil voi...

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Down-Adown-Derry

Down-adown-derry,
    Sweet Annie Maroon,
Gathering daisies
    In the meadows of Doone,
Hears a shrill piping,
    Elflike and free,
Where the waters go brawling
    In rills to the sea;
    Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,
    Sweet Annie Maroon,
Through the green grasses
    Peeps softly; and soon
Spies under green willows
    A fairy whose song
Like the smallest of bubbles
    Floats bobbing along;
    Singing down-adown-derry.



Down-adown-derry,
    Her cheeks were like wine,
Her eyes in her wee face
    Like water-sparks shine,
Her niminy fingers
    Her sleek tresses preen,
The which in the combing
    She peeps out between;
    Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-...

Walter De La Mare

Certain Truths About Certain Things

I.

And the boy that lives next door
Said to me one day, There's more
In those rhymes of Mother Goose
And those tales, I don't care whose,
Arabian Nights or Grimm's, or, well,
Any one's, than, I've no doubt,
You or I can ever tell,
Or can ever know about.

II.

Why, there is a land, you know,
Where the world is so-and-so:
Where old Hick-a-Hack-a-more
Kicks the king right out his door
And sits on his throne and kills
Blackbirds as they fly from pies,
Pots them on the windowsills
I ain't telling you no lies.

III.

For I met an old man once
And he was n't any dunce
Who just told me he had been
To that land and he had seen
All those people: even met
Handy Spandy in a shop;
And old Doctor Foster...

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The Gnomies

As I lay awake in the white moonlight,
I heard a sweet singing in the wood -
        'Out of bed,
        Sleepyhead,
        Put your white foot now,
        Here are we,
        'Neath the tree,
        Singing round the root now!'

I looked out of window in the white moonlight,
The trees were like snow in the wood -
        'Come away
        Child and play,
        Light wi' the gnomies;
        In a mound,
        Green and round,
        That's where their home is!
        'Honey sweet,
        Curds to eat,
        Cream and frumènty,
        Shells and beads,
        Poppy seeds,
        You shall have plenty.'

But soon as I stooped in the dim moonlight
To put on my stocking and my shoe,
The sweet, swe...

Walter De La Mare