The Little Creature

Twinkum, twankum, twirlum and twitch
My great grandam - She was a Witch.
Mouse in wainscot, Saint in niche -
My great grandam - She was a Witch;
Deadly nightshade flowers in a ditch -
My great grandam - She was a Witch;
Long though the shroud it grows stitch by stitch -
My great grandam - She was a Witch;
Wean your weakling before you breech -
My great grandam - She was a Witch;
The fattest pig's but a double flitch -
My great grandam - She was a Witch;
Nightjars rattle, owls scritch -
My great grandam - She was a Witch.

    Pretty and small,
    A mere nothing at all,
    Pinned up sharp in the ghost of a shawl,
    She'd straddle her down to the kirkyard wall,
    And mutter and whisper and call; and call -
    And - call.

Red blood out and black blood in,
My Nannie says I'm a child of sin -
How did I choose me my witchcraft kin!
Know I as soon as dark's dreams begin
Snared is my heart in a nightmare's gin;
Never from terror I out may win;
So dawn and dusk I pine, peak, thin,
Scarcely beknowing t'other from which -
My great grandam - She was a Witch.

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

Hamlet

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Pedlar

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Song Of Enchantment

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Falstaff

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

English

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The Witch

Weary went the old Witch,
Weary of her pack,
She sat her down by the churchyard wall,
And jerked it off her back.

The cord brake, yes, the cord brake,
Just where the dead did lie,
And Charms and Spells and Sorceries
Spilled out beneath the sky.

Weary was the old Witch;
She rested her old eyes
From the lantern-fruited yew trees,
And the scarlet of the skies;

And out the dead came stumbling,
From every rift and crack,
Silent as moss, and plundered
The gaping pack.

They wish them, three times over,
Away they skip full soon:
Bat and Mole and Leveret,
Under the rising moon;

Owl and Newt and Nightjar:
They take their shapes and creep,
Silent as churchyard lichen,
While she squats asleep.

All...

Walter De La Mare

The Witch

Weary went the old Witch,
    Weary of her pack,
She sat her down by the churchyard wall,
    And jerked it off her back.

The cord brake, yes, the cord brake,
    Just where the dead did lie,
And Charms and Spells and Sorceries
    Spilled out beneath the sky.

Weary was the old Witch;
    She rested her old eyes
From the lantern-fruited yew trees,
    And the scarlet of the skies;

And out the dead came stumbling,
    From every rift and crack,
Silent as moss, and plundered
    The gaping pack.

They wish them, three times over,
    Away they skip full soon:
Bat and Mole and Leveret,
    Under the rising moon;
Owl and Newt and Nightjar:
    They take their shapes and creep,
Silent as churchyard lichen,
 ...

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 Phantom

'Upstairs in the large closet, child,
    This side the blue-room door,
Is an old Bible, bound in leather,
    Standing upon the floor;

'Go with this taper, bring it me;
    Carry it on your arm;
It is the book on many a sea
    Hath stilled the waves' alarm.'

Late the hour, dark the night,
    The house is solitary,
Feeble is a taper's light
    To light poor Ann to see.

Her eyes are yet with visions bright
    Of sylph and river, flower and fay,
Now through a narrow corridor
    She takes her lonely way.

Vast shadows on the heedless walls
    Gigantic loom, stoop low:
Each little hasty footfall calls
    Hollowly to and fro.

In the dim solitude her heart
    Remembers tearlessly
White winters when h...

Walter De La Mare

I Saw Three Witches

I saw three witches
That bowed down like barley,
And straddled their brooms 'neath a louring sky,
        And, mounting a storm-cloud,
        Aloft on its margin,
Stood black in the silver as up they did fly.

        I saw three witches
        That mocked the poor sparrows
They carried in cages of wicker along,
        Till a hawk from his eyrie
        Swooped down like an arrow,
Smote on the cages, and ended their song.

        I saw three witches
        That sailed in a shallop,
All turning their heads with a snickering smile,
        Till a bank of green osiers
        Concealed their grim faces,
Though I heard them lamenting for many a mile.

        I saw three witches
        Asleep in a valley,
Their heads in a r...

Walter De La Mare