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, sweet singing died sadly away,
And the light of the morning peep'd through:
Then instead of the gnomies there came a red robin
To sing of the buttercups and dew.

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

Motley

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Mocking Fairy

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Thief At Robin's Castle

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Old Soldier

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

English

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Sleepyhead

As I lay awake in the white moonlight
I heard a faint singing in the wood,
            "Out of bed,
            Sleepyhead,
            Put your white foot, now;
            Here are we
            Beneath the tree
            Singing round the root now."

I looked out of window, in the white moonlight,
The leaves were like snow in the wood -
            "Come away,
            Child, and play
            Light with the gnomies;
            In a mound,
            Green and round,
            That's where their home is.

            "Honey sweet,
            Curds to eat,
            Cream and frumenty,
            Shells and beads,
            Poppy seeds,
            You shall have plenty."

But, as soon as I stoo...

Walter De La Mare

The Child In The Story Awakes

The light of dawn rose on my dreams,
    And from afar I seemed to hear
In sleep the mellow blackbird call
    Hollow and sweet and clear.

I prythee, Nurse, my casement open,
    Wildly the garden peals with singing,
And hooting through the dewy pines
    The goblins all are winging.

O listen the droning of the bees,
    That in the roses take delight!
And see a cloud stays in the blue
    Like an angel still and bright.

The gentle sky is spread like silk,
    And, Nurse, the moon doth languish there,
As if it were a perfect jewel
    In the morning's soft-spun hair.

The greyness of the distant hills
    Is silvered in the lucid East,
See, now the sheeny-plumèd cock
    Wags haughtily his crest.

'O come you out...

Walter De La Mare

The Child In The Story Goes To Bed

I prythee, Nurse, come smooth my hair,
    And prythee, Nurse, unloose my shoe,
And trimly turn my silken sheet
    Upon my quilt of gentle blue.

My pillow sweet of lavender
    Smooth with an amiable hand,
And may the dark pass peacefully by
    As in the hour-glass droops the sand.

Prepare my cornered manchet sweet,
    And in my little crystal cup
Pour out the blithe and flowering mead
    That forthwith I may sup.

Withdraw my curtains from the night,
    And let the crispèd crescent shine
Upon my eyelids while I sleep,
    And soothe me with her beams benign.

From far-away there streams the singing
    Of the mellifluent nightingale, -
Surely if goblins hear her lay,
    They shall not o'er my peace prevail.

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

Cecil

Ye little elves, who haunt sweet dells,
Where flowers with the dew commune,
I pray you hush the child, Cecil,
    With windlike song.

O little elves, so white she lieth,
Each eyelid gentler than the flow'r
Of the bramble, and her fleecy hair
    Like smoke of gold.

O little elves, her hands and feet
The angels muse upon, and God
Hath shut a glimpse of Paradise
    In each blue eye.

O little elves, her tiny body
Like a white flake of snow it is,
Drooping upon the pale green hood
    Of the chill snowdrop.

O little elves, with elderflower,
And pimpernel, and the white hawthorn,
Sprinkle the journey of her dreams:
    And, little elves,

Call to her magically sweet,
Lest of her very tenderness
She do fors...

Walter De La Mare

Lullaby

Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul!
The singing mouse sings plaintively,
The sweet night-bird in the chesnut-tree -
They sing together, bird and mouse,
In starlight, in darkness, lonely, sweet,
The wild notes and the faint notes meet -
    Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul!

Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul!
Amid the lilies floats the moth,
The mole along his galleries goeth
In the dark earth; the summer moon
Looks like a shepherd through the pane
Seeking his feeble lamb again -
    Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul!

Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul!
Time comes to keep night-watch with thee
Nodding with roses; and the sea
Saith 'Peace! Peace!' amid his foam
White as thy night-clothes; 'O be still!'
The wind cries up the whisp'ring hill -
...

Walter De La Mare