The Pigs And The Charcoal - Burner

The old Pig said to the little pigs,
    'In the forest is truffles and mast,
Follow me then, all ye little pigs,
    Follow me fast!'

The Charcoal-burner sat in the shade
    With his chin on his thumb,
And saw the big Pig and the little pigs,
    Chuffling come.

He watched 'neath a green and giant bough,
    And the pigs in the ground
Made a wonderful grizzling and gruzzling
    And a greedy sound.

And when, full-fed they were gone, and Night
    Walked her starry ways,
He stared with his cheeks in his hands
    At his sullen blaze.

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 Ruin

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Fool's Song

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Winter

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Clear Eyes

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 Three Little Pigs

Ah, very, very poor was she--
Old Dame Pig, with her children three!
Robust, beautiful little ones
Were those three sons,
Each wearing always, without fail,
A little fanciful knot in his tail.

But never enough of sour or sweet
Had they to eat;
And so, one day, with a piteous squeak,
Did the mother speak:
"My sons, your fortune you must seek!"
And out in the world, as they were sent,
The three pigs went.

Trotting along, the first one saw
A man who carried a bundle of straw.
"Give me some straw for a house and bed,"
The little pig said.
Straightway, not even waiting a bit,
The kind man did as he was bid;
And the little pig built a house of it.

But he was no more than settled, before
A wolf came along and knocked at the ...

Clara Doty Bates

Grim

Beside the blaze of forty fires
    Giant Grim doth sit,
Roasting a thick-woolled mountain sheep
    Upon an iron spit.
Above him wheels the winter sky,
    Beneath him, fathoms deep,
Lies hidden in the valley mists
    A village fast asleep - -
Save for one restive hungry dog
    That, snuffing towards the height,
Smells Grim's broiled supper-meat, and spies
His watch-fire twinkling bright.

Walter De La Mare

Nursery Rhyme. LV. Tales. The Story Of The Three Little Pigs.

The Story Of The Three Little Pigs.

Once upon a time there was an old sow with three little pigs, and as she had not enough to keep them, she sent them out to seek their fortune. The first that went off met a man with a bundle of straw, and said to him, "Please, man, give me that straw to build me a house;" which the man did, and the little pig built a house with it. Presently came along a wolf, and knocked at the door, and said, -

"Little pig, little pig, let me come in."

To which the pig answered, -

"No, no, by the hair of my chiny chin chin."

The wolf then answered to that, -

"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in."

So he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew his house in, and eat up the little pig.

The second little pig met a man ...

Unknown

The Poor Man's Pig

Already fallen plum-bloom stars the green
    And apple-boughs as knarred as old toads' backs
Wear their small roses ere a rose is seen;
    The building thrush watches old Job who stacks
The bright-peeled osiers on the sunny fence,
    The pent sow grunts to hear him stumping by,
And tries to push the bolt and scamper thence,
    But her ringed snout still keeps her to the sty.

Then out he lets her run; away she snorts
    In bundling gallop for the cottage door,
With hungry hubbub begging crusts and orts,
    Then like the whirlwind bumping round once more;
Nuzzling the dog, making the pullets run,
    And sulky as a child when her play's done.

Edmund Blunden

Lob Lie By The Fire

He squats by the fire
    On his three-legged stool,
When all in the house
    With slumber are full.

And he warms his great hands,
    Hanging loose from each knee.
And he whistles as soft
    As the night wind at sea.

For his work now is done;
    All the water is sweet;
He has turned each brown loaf,
    And breathed magic on it.

The milk in the pan,
    And the bacon on beam
He has "spelled" with his thumb,
    And bewitched has the dream.

Not a mouse, not a moth,
    Not a spider but sat,
And quaked as it wondered
    What next he'd be at.

But his heart, O, his heart -
    It belies his great nose;
And at gleam of his eye
    Not a soul would suppose

He had stooped with great thum...

Walter De La Mare

The Spectre Pig - A Ballad

It was the stalwart butcher man,
That knit his swarthy brow,
And said the gentle Pig must die,
And sealed it with a vow.

And oh! it was the gentle Pig
Lay stretched upon the ground,
And ah! it was the cruel knife
His little heart that found.

They took him then, those wicked men,
They trailed him all along;
They put a stick between his lips,
And through his heels a thong;

And round and round an oaken beam
A hempen cord they flung,
And, like a mighty pendulum,
All solemnly he swung!

Now say thy prayers, thou sinful man,
And think what thou hast done,
And read thy catechism well,
Thou bloody-minded one;

For if his sprite should walk by night,
It better were for thee,
That thou wert mouldering in the grou...

Oliver Wendell Holmes