Walter de la Mare: Всі вірші поета | Poetree

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Good-bye

Good-bye

The last of last words spoken is, Good-bye -

The last dismantled flower in the weed-grown hedge,

The last thin rumour of a feeble bell far ringing,

The last blind rat to spurn the mildewed rye.

A hardening darkness glasses the haunted eye,

Shines into nothing the watcher's burnt-out candle,

Wreathes into scentless nothing the wasting incense,

Faints in the outer silence the hunting-cry.

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Walter de la Mare

Bones

Bones

Said Mr. Smith, “I really cannot

Tell you, Dr. Jones—

The most peculiar pain I’m in—

I think it’s in my bones.”

Said Dr. Jones, “Oh, Mr. Smith,

That’s nothing. Without doubt

We have a simple cure for that;

It is to take them out.”

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Walter de la Mare

At Ease

At Ease

Most wounds can Time repair;

But some are mortal — these:

For a broken heart there is no balm,

No cure for a heart at ease —

At ease, but cold as stone,

Though the intellect spin on,

And the feat and practiced face may show

Nought of the life that is gone;

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Walter de la Mare

Comfort

Comfort

As I mused by the hearthside,

Puss said to me;

"there burns the fire , man,

and here sit we.

Four walls around us

against the cold air;

and the latch drawn close

to the draughty stair.

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Walter de la Mare

Winter

Winter

Clouded with snow

The cold winds blow,

And shrill on leafless bough

The robin with its burning breast

Alone sings now.

The rayless sun,

Day's journey done,

Sheds its last ebbing light

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Walter de la Mare

Hi!

Hi!

Hi! Handsome hunting man,

Fire your little gun,

Bang! Now that animal

Is dead and dumb and done.

Never more to peep again, creep again, leap again,

Eat or sleep or drink again, oh, what fun!

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Walter de la Mare

Music

Music

When music sounds, gone is the earth I know,

And all her lovely things even lovelier grow;

Her flowers in vision flame, her forest trees

Lift burdened branches, stilled with ecstasies.

When music sounds, out of the water rise

Naiads whose beauty dims my waking eyes,

Rapt in strange dreams burns each enchanted face,

With solemn echoing stirs their dwelling-place.

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Walter de la Mare

Mistletoe

Mistletoe

Sitting under the mistletoe

(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),

One last candle burning low,

All the sleepy dancers gone,

Just one candle burning on,

Shadows lurking everywhere:

Some one came, and kissed me there.

Tired I was; my head would go

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Walter de la Mare

Fare Well

Fare Well

When I lie where shades of darkness

Shall no more assail mine eyes,

Nor the rain make lamentation

When the wind sighs;

How will fare the world whose wonder

Was the very proof of me?

Memory fades, must the remembered

Perishing be?

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Walter de la Mare

Napoleon

Napoleon

'What is the world, O soldiers?

It is I:

I, this incessant snow,

This northern sky;

Soldiers, this solitude

Through which we go

Is I.'

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Walter de la Mare

Old Susan

Old Susan

When Susan's work was done, she'd sit

With one fat guttering candle lit,

And window opened wide to win

The sweet night air to enter in;

There, with a thumb to keep her place

She'd read, with stern and wrinkled face.

Her mild eyes gliding very slow

Across the letters to and fro,

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Walter de la Mare

Moonlight

Moonlight

The far moon maketh lovers wise

In her pale beauty trembling down,

Lending curved cheeks, dark lips, dark eyes,

A strangeness not their own.

And, though they shut their lids to kiss,

In starless darkness peace to win,

Even on that secret world from this

Her twilight enters in.

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Walter de la Mare