Collected Poems 1901-1918 in Two Volumes - Volume I.

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Title: Collected Poems 1901-1918 in Two Volumes
Volume I.
Author: Walter de la Mare
Release Date: April 14, 2004 [EBook #12031]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
? START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLLECTED POEMS 1901-1918 ***
Produced by Ted Garvin and PG Distributed Proofreaders
COLLECTED POEMS
1901-1918
BY
WALTER DE LA MARE
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I
1920

CONTENTS
POEMS: 1906
LYRICAL POEMS--?SHADOW?UNREGARDING?THEY TOLD ME?SORCERY?THE CHILDREN OF STARE?AGE?THE GLIMPSE?REMEMBRANCE?TREACHERY?IN VAIN?THE MIRACLE?KEEP INNOCENCY?THE PHANTOM?VOICES?THULE?THE BIRTHNIGHT: TO F.?THE DEATH-DREAM?"WHERE IS THY VICTORY?"?FOREBODING?VAIN FINDING?NAPOLEON?ENGLAND?TRUCE?EVENING?NIGHT?THE UNIVERSE?GLORIA MUNDI?IDLENESS?GOLIATH
CHARACTERS FROM SHAKESPEARE--?FALSTAFF?MACBETH?BANQUO?MERCUTIO?JULIET'S NURSE?IAGO?IMOGEN?POLONIUS?OPHELIA?HAMLET
SONNETS--?THE HAPPY ENCOUNTER?APRIL?SEA-MAGIC?THE MARKET-PLACE?ANATOMY?EVEN IN THE GRAVE?BRIGHT LIFE?HUMANITY?VIRTUE
MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD--?REVERIE?THE MASSACRE?ECHO?FEAR?THE MERMAIDS?MYSELF?AUTUMN?WINTER?ENVOI: TO MY MOTHER
THE LISTENERS: 1914
THE THREE CHERRY TREES?OLD SUSAN?OLD BEN?MISS LOO?THE TAILOR?MARTHA?THE SLEEPER?THE KEYS OF MORNING?RACHEL?ALONE?THE BELLS?THE SCARECROW?NOD?THE BINDWEED?WINTER?THERE BLOOMS NO BUD IN MAY?NOON AND NIGHT FLOWER?ESTRANGED?THE TIRED CUPID?DREAMS?FAITHLESS?THE SHADE?BE ANGRY NOW NO MORE?EXILE?WHERE??MUSIC UNHEARD?ALL THAT'S PAST?WHEN THE ROSE IS FADED?SLEEP?THE STRANGER?NEVER MORE SAILOR?ARABIA?THE MOUNTAINS?QUEEN DJENIRA?NEVER-TO-BE?THE DARK CH?TEAU?THE DWELLING-PLACE?THE LISTENERS?TIME PASSES?BEWARE!?THE JOURNEY?HAUNTED?SILENCE?WINTER DUSK?THE GHOST?AN EPITAPH?"THE HAWTHORN HATH A DEATHLY SMELL"
MOTLEY: 1918
THE LITTLE SALAMANDER?THE LINNET?THE SUNKEN GARDEN?THE RIDDLERS?MOONLIGHT?THE BLIND BOY?THE QUARRY?MRS. GRUNDY?THE TRYST?ALONE?THE EMPTY HOUSE?MISTRESS FELL?THE GHOST?THE STRANGER?BETRAYAL?THE CAGE?THE REVENANT?MUSIC?THE REMONSTRANCE?NOCTURNE?THE EXILE?THE UNCHANGING?INVOCATION?EYES?LIFE?THE DISGUISE?VAIN QUESTIONING?VIGIL?THE OLD MEN?THE DREAMER?MOTLEY?THE MARIONETTES?TO E.T.: 1917?APRIL MOON?THE FOOL'S SONG?CLEAR EYES?DUST TO DUST?THE THREE STRANGERS?ALEXANDER?THE REAWAKENING?THE VACANT DAY?THE FLIGHT?FOR ALL THE GRIEF?THE SCRIBE?FARE WELL

POEMS: 1906
TO HENRY NEWBOLT

LYRICAL POEMS

THEY TOLD ME
They told me Pan was dead, but I?Oft marvelled who it was that sang?Down the green valleys languidly?Where the grey elder-thickets hang.
Sometimes I thought it was a bird?My soul had charged with sorcery;?Sometimes it seemed my own heart heard?Inland the sorrow of the sea.
But even where the primrose sets?The seal of her pale loveliness,?I found amid the violets?Tears of an antique bitterness.
SORCERY
"What voice is that I hear?Crying across the pool?"?"It is the voice of Pan you hear,?Crying his sorceries shrill and clear,?In the twilight dim and cool."
"What song is it he sings,?Echoing from afar;?While the sweet swallow bends her wings,?Filling the air with twitterings,?Beneath the brightening star?"
The woodman answered me,?His faggot on his back:--?"Seek not the face of Pan to see;?Flee from his clear note summoning thee?To darkness deep and black!"
"He dwells in thickest shade,?Piping his notes forlorn?Of sorrow never to be allayed;?Turn from his coverts sad?Of twilight unto morn!"
The woodman passed away?Along the forest path;?His ax shone keen and grey?In the last beams of day:?And all was still as death:--
Only Pan singing sweet?Out of Earth's fragrant shade;?I dreamed his eyes to meet,?And found but shadow laid?Before my tired feet.
Comes no more dawn to me,?Nor bird of open skies.?Only his woods' deep gloom I see?Till, at the end of all, shall rise,?Afar and tranquilly,?Death's stretching sea.
THE CHILDREN OF STARE
Winter is fallen early?On the house of Stare;?Birds in reverberating flocks?Haunt its ancestral box;?Bright are the plenteous berries?In clusters in the air.
Still is the fountain's music,?The dark pool icy still,?Whereupon a small and sanguine sun?Floats in a mirror on,?Into a West of crimson,?From a South of daffodil.
'Tis strange to see young children?In such a wintry house;?Like rabbits' on the frozen snow?Their tell-tale footprints go;?Their laughter rings like timbrels?'Neath evening ominous:
Their small and heightened faces?Like wine-red winter buds;?Their frolic bodies gentle as?Flakes in the air that pass,?Frail as the twirling petal?From the briar of the woods.
Above them silence lours,?Still as an arctic sea;?Light fails; night falls; the wintry moon?Glitters; the crocus soon?Will ope grey and distracted?On earth's austerity:
Thick mystery, wild peril,?Law like an iron rod:--?Yet sport they on in Spring's attire,?Each with his tiny fire?Blown to a core of ardour?By the awful breath of God.
AGE
This ugly old crone--?Every beauty she had?When a maid, when a maid.?Her beautiful eyes,?Too youthful, too wise,?Seemed ever to come?To so lightless a home,?Cold and dull as a stone.?And her cheeks--who would guess?Cheeks cadaverous as this?Once with colours were gay?As the flower on its spray??Who would ever believe?Aught could bring one to grieve?So much as to make?Lips bent for love's sake?So thin and so grey??O Youth, come away!?As she asks in her lone,?This old, desolate crone.?She loves us no more;?She is too old to care?For the charms that of yore?Made her body so fair.?Past repining, past care,?She lives but to bear?One or two fleeting years?Earth's indifference: her tears?Have lost now their heat;?Her hands and her feet?Now shake but to be?Shed as leaves from a tree;?And her poor heart beats on?Like a sea--the storm gone.
THE GLIMPSE
Art thou asleep? or have thy wings?Wearied of my unchanging skies??Or, haply, is it fading dreams
Are in my eyes?
Not even an echo in my heart?Tells me the courts thy feet trod last,?Bare as a leafless wood it is,
The summer past.
My inmost mind is like a book?The reader dulls with lassitude,?Wherein the same old