Produced by Ted Garvin and PG Distributed Proofreaders
COLLECTED POEMS
1901-1918
BY
WALTER DE LA MARE
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. II
1920
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CONTENTS
SONGS OF CHILDHOOD: 1901
TO JILL— SLEEPYHEAD BLUEBELLS LOVELOCKS TARTARY THE BUCKLE THE HARE BUNCHES OF GRAPES JOHN MOULDY THE FLY SONG I SAW THREE WITCHES THE SILVER PENNY THE RAINBOW THE FAIRIES DANCING REVERIE THE THREE BEGGARS THE DWARF ALULVAN THE PEDLAR THE OGRE DAME HICKORY THE PILGRIM THE GAGE AS LUCY WENT A-WALKING THE ENGLISHMAN THE PHANTOM THE MILLER AND HIS SON DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY THE SUPPER THE ISLE OF LONE SLEEPING BEAUTY THE HORN CAPTAIN LEAN THE PORTRAIT OF A WARRIOR HAUNTED THE RAVEN'S TOMB THE CHRISTENING THE FUNERAL THE MOTHER BIRD THE CHILD IN THE STORY GOES TO BED THE LAMPLIGHTER I MET AT EVE LULLABY ENVOI
[Transcriber's Note: Because the remainder of this volume is availableelsewhere in the PG archive, it is not included here.]
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SONGS OF CHILDHOOD: 1901
TO JILL
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SLEEPYHEAD
As I lay awake in the white moonlight,
I heard a faint singing in the wood,
"Out of bed,
Sleepyhead,
Put your white foot, now;
Here are we
Beneath the tree
Singing round the root now."
I looked out of window, in the white moonlight,
The leaves were like snow in the wood—
"Come away,
Child, and play
Light with the gnomies;
In a mound,
Green and round,
That's where their home is."
"Honey sweet,
Curds to eat,
Cream and frumenty,
Shells and beads,
Poppy seeds,
You shall have plenty."
But, as soon as I stooped in the dim moonlight
To put on my stocking and my shoe,
The sweet shrill singing echoed faintly away,
And the grey of the morning peeped through,
And instead of the gnomies there came a red robin
To sing of the buttercups and dew.
BLUEBELLS
Where the bluebells and the wind are,
Fairies in a ring I spied,
And I heard a little linnet
Singing near beside.
Where the primrose and the dew are—
Soon were sped the fairies all:
Only now the green turf freshens,
And the linnets call.
LOVELOCKS
I watched the Lady Caroline
Bind up her dark and beauteous hair;
Her face was rosy in the glass,
And 'twixt the coils her hands would pass,
White in the candleshine.
Her bottles on the table lay,
Stoppered, yet sweet of violet;
Her image in the mirror stooped
To view those locks as lightly looped
As cherry boughs in May.
The snowy night lay dim without,