The Grey Wolf

'A fagot, a fagot, go fetch for the fire, son!'
    'O, Mother, the wolf looks in at the door!'
'Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! thou fierce grey wolf fly, now;
    Haste thee away, he will fright thee no more.'

'I ran, O, I ran, but the grey wolf ran faster,
    O, Mother, I cry in the air at thy door,
Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! but his fangs were so cruel,
    Thy son (save his hatchet) thou'lt never see more.'

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 Miracle

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Keys Of Morning

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Stranger

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Music

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Supper

A wolf he pricks with eyes of fire
Across the night's o'ercrusted snows,
    Seeking his prey,
    He pads his way
Where Jane benighted goes,
    Where Jane benighted goes.

He curdles the bleak air with ire,
Ruffling his hoary raiment through,
    And lo! he sees
    Beneath the trees
Where Jane's light footsteps go,
    Where Jane's light footsteps go.

No hound peals thus in wicked joy,
He snaps his muzzle in the snows,
    His five-clawed feet
    Do scamper fleet
Where Jane's bright lanthorn shows,
    Where Jane's bright lanthorn shows.

Now his greed's green doth gaze unseen
On a pure face of wilding rose,
    Her amber eyes
    In fear's surprise
Watch largely as she goes,
    Watch largely as she goes....

Walter De La Mare

Shepherd's Dog And Wolf.

        A hungry wolf had thinned the fold,
        Safely he refuged on the wold;
        And, as in den secure he lay,
        The thefts of night regaled his day.
        The shepherd's dog, who searched the glen,
        By chance found the marauder's den.
        They fought like Trojan and like Greek,
        Till it fell out they both waxed weak.

        "Wolf," said the dog, "the whilst we rest on,
        I fain would ask of you a question."

        "Ask on," the wolf replied; "I'm ready."

        "Wolf," said the dog, "with soul so steady
        And limbs so strong, I wonder much
        That you our lambs and ewes should touch.
        There are the lion and the boar
        To bathe your jaws with worthier gore;
        'Tis cowa...

John Gay

The Wolf, The Mother, And Her Child.

^[1]

This wolf another brings to mind,
Who found dame Fortune more unkind,
In that the greedy, pirate sinner,
Was balk'd of life as well as dinner.
As saith our tale, a villager
Dwelt in a by, unguarded place;
There, hungry, watch'd our pillager
For luck and chance to mend his case.
For there his thievish eyes had seen
All sorts of game go out and in -
Nice sucking calves, and lambs and sheep;
And turkeys by the regiment,
With steps so proud, and necks so bent,
They'd make a daintier glutton weep.
The thief at length began to tire
Of being gnaw'd by vain desire.
Just then a child set up a cry:
'Be still,' the mother said, 'or I
Will throw you to the wolf, you brat!'
'Ha, ha!' thought he, 'what talk is that!
The gods be ...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Were-Wolf

        SHE.

Nay; still amort, my love? Why dost thou lag?

        HE.

The strix-owl cried.

        SHE.


                Nay! yon wild stream that leaps
Hoarse from the black pines of the Hakel steeps,
A moon-tipped water, down a glittering crag. -
Why so aghast, sweetheart? Why dost thou stop?

        HE.

The demon-huntsman passed with hooting horn!

        SHE.

Nay! 't was the blind wind sweeping through the thorn
Around the ruins of the Dumburg's top.

        HE.

My limbs are cold.

        SHE.

                Come! warm thee in mine arms.

        HE.

Mine eyes are weary.

        SHE.

                Rest them, love, on mine.<...

Madison Julius Cawein

The Wolf

Like a grey shadow lurking in the light,
He ventures forth along the edge of night;
With silent foot he scouts the coulie's rim
And scents the carrion awaiting him.
His savage eyeballs lurid with a flare
Seen but in unfed beasts which leave their lair
To wrangle with their fellows for a meal
Of bones ill-covered. Sets he forth to steal,
To search and snarl and forage hungrily;
A worthless prairie vagabond is he.
Luckless the settler's heifer which astray
Falls to his fangs and violence a prey;
Useless her blatant calling when his teeth
Are fast upon her quivering flank - beneath
His fell voracity she falls and dies
With inarticulate and piteous cries,
Unheard, unheeded in the barren waste,
To be devoured with savage greed and haste.
Up the horizon on...

Emily Pauline Johnson

The Wolf And The Shepherds.

^[1]

A Wolf, replete
With humanity sweet,
(A trait not much suspected,)
On his cruel deeds,
The fruit of his needs,
Profoundly thus reflected.

'I'm hated,' said he,
'As joint enemy,
By hunters, dogs, and clowns.
They swear I shall die,
And their hue and cry
The very thunder drowns.

'My brethren have fled,
With price on the head,
From England's merry land.
King Edgar came out,
And put them to rout,^[2]
With many a deadly band.

'And there's not a squire
But blows up the fire
By hostile proclamation;
Nor a human brat,
Dares cry, but that
Its mother mocks my nation.

'And all for what?
For a sheep with the rot,
Or scabby, mangy ass,
Or some snarling cur,

Jean de La Fontaine