The Ride-By-Nights

Up on their brooms the Witches stream,
Crooked and black in the crescent's gleam;
One foot high, and one foot low,
Bearded, cloaked, and cowled, they go.
'Neath Charlie's Wane they twitter and tweet,
And away they swarm 'neath the Dragon's feet.
With a whoop and a flutter they swing and sway,
And surge pell-mell down the Milky Way.
Betwixt the legs of the glittering Chair
They hover and squeak in the empty air.
Then round they swoop past the glimmering Lion
To where Sirius barks behind huge Orion;
Up, then, and over to wheel amain,
Under the silver, and home again.

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 Double

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Sunk Lyonesse

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Off The Ground

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Little Salamander

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

English

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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

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

I Saw Three Witches

I saw three witches
That bowed down like barley,
And took to 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,
And smote on the cages, and ended their song.

I saw three witches
That sailed in a shallop,
All turning their heads with a truculent 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 row, like stones in a flood,
Till the moon, creeping upward,
Looked white through the ...

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

Nightfall

The last light fails - that shallow pool of day!
The coursers of the dark stamp down to drink,
Arch their wild necks, lift their wild heads and neigh;
Their drivers, gathering at the water-brink,
With eyes ashine from out their clustering hair,
Utter their hollow speech, or gaze afar,
Rapt in irradiant reverie, to where
Languishes, lost in light, the evening star.

Come the wood-nymphs to dance within the glooms,
Calling these charioteers with timbrels' din;
Ashen with twilight the dark forest looms
O'er the nocturnal beasts that prowl within
"O glory of beauty which the world makes fair!"
Pant they their serenading on the air.

Sound the loud hooves, and all abroad the sky
The lusty charioteers their stations take;
Planet to planet do the sweet Love...

Walter De La Mare

The Fairies Dancing

I heard along the early hills,
    Ere yet the lark was risen up,
Ere yet the dawn with firelight fills
    The night-dew of the bramble-cup, -
I heard the fairies in a ring
    Sing as they tripped a lilting round
Soft as the moon on wavering wing.
    The starlight shook as if with sound,
As if with echoing, and the stars
    Prankt their bright eyes with trembling gleams
While red with war the gusty Mars
    Rained upon earth his ruddy beams.
He shone alone, low down the West,
    While I, behind a hawthorn-bush,
Watched on the fairies flaxen-tressed
    The fires of the morning flush.
Till, as a mist, their beauty died,
    Their singing shrill and fainter grew;
And daylight tremulous and wide
    Flooded the moorland through and through;

Walter De La Mare