Walter de la Mare

Walter de la Mare

1,000 карма
United Kingdom (Great Britain)

Off the Ground

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Three jolly Farmers Once bet a pound Each dance the others would Off the ground
Out of their coats They slipped right soon,
And neat and nicesome Put each his shoon
One—Two—Three
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Fare Well

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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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The Huntsmen

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Three jolly gentlemen,
In coats of red,
Rode their horses Up to bed
Three jolly gentlemen Snored till morn,
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Sunk Lyonesse

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In sea-cold Lyonesse,
When the Sabbath eve shafts
On the roofs, walls,
Of the foundered town,
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The Song Of Shadows

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"Sweep thy faint strings,
Musician,
With thy long lean hand;
Downward the starry tapers burn,
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Napoleon

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'What is the world,
O soldiers
It is I:
I, this incessant snow,    This northern sky;
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Nicholas Nye

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Thistle and darnell and dock grew there,
And a bush, in the corner, of may,
On the orchard wall I used to sprawl In the blazing heat of the day;
Half asleep and half awake,
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