The Song Of Finis

AT the edge of All the Ages
    A Knight sate on his steed,
His armor red and thin with rust
    His soul from sorrow freed;
And he lifted up his visor
    From a face of skin and bone,
And his horse turned head and whinnied
    As the twain stood there alone.

No bird above that steep of time
    Sang of a livelong quest;
No wind breathed,
    Rest:
"Lone for an end!" cried Knight to steed,
    Loosed an eager rein -
Charged with his challenge into space:
    And quiet did quiet remain.

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

Grim

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

As Lucy Went A-Walking

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Some One

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Nicholas Nye

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

English

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The Last Word

Before the April night was late
A rider came to the castle gate;
A rider breathing human breath,
But the words he spoke were the words of Death.

"Greet you well from the King our lord,
He marches hot for the eastward ford;
Living or dying, all or one,
Ye must keep the ford till the race be run.

Sir Alain rose with lips that smiled,
He kissed his wife, he kissed his child:
Before the April night was late
Sir Alain rode from the castle gate.

He called his men-at-arms by name,
But one there was uncalled that came:
He bade his troop behind him ride,
But there was one that rode beside.

        "Why will you spur so fast to die?
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The Dwelling-Place

Deep in a forest where the kestrel screamed,
Beside a lake of water, clear as glass,
The time-worn windows of a stone house gleamed,
    Named only 'Alas.'

Yet happy as the wild birds in the glades
Of that green forest, thridding the still air
With low continued heedless serenades,
    Its heedless people were.

The throbbing chords of violin and lute,
The lustre of lean tapers in dark eyes,
Fair colours, beauteous flowers, dainty fruit
    Made earth seem Paradise

To them that dwelt within this lonely house:
Like children of the gods in lasting peace,
They ate, sang, danced, as if each day's carouse
    Need never pause, nor cease.

Some might cry, Vanity! to a weeping lyre,
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The Old Men

Old and alone, sit we,
Caged, riddle-rid men;
Lost to Earth's "Listen!" and "See!"
Thought's "Wherefore?" and "When?"

Only far memories stray
Of a past once lovely, but now
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Like green leaves from the bough.

Vast broods the silence of night,
The ruinous moon
Lifts on our faces her light,
Whence all dreaming is gone.

We speak not; trembles each head;
In their sockets our eyes are still;
Desire as cold as the dead;
Without wonder or will.
And One, with a lanthorn, draws near,
At clash with the moon in our eyes:
"Where art thou?" he asks: "I am here,"
One by one we arise.

And none lifts a hand to withhold
A friend from the touch of that foe:
Heart cries unto heart, "Thou art old!"
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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,
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Come the wood-nymphs to dance within the glooms,
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Pant they their serenading on the air.

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The Knight's Leap: A Legend Of Altenahr

'So the foemen have fired the gate, men of mine;
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Then bring me a cup of the red Ahr-wine:
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'And reach me my harness, and saddle my horse,
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He must take such a leap to-night perforce,
    As horse never took before.

'I have fought my fight, I have lived my life,
    I have drunk my share of wine;
From Trier to Coln there was never a knight
    Led a merrier life than mine.

'I have lived by the saddle for years two score;
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A Vision of Youth

A horseman on a hilltop green
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His steed was of the sovran strain
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The riders eyes like jewels glowed,
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He rode along with rein so free,
And, as he rode, the Blue
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He rode by cot and castle dim
Through all the greenland gay;
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