As a revelation of the wonders of the English language, de la Mare’s poems for children are quite unrivaled.—W.H. Auden
Walter de la Mare modestly noted that his first book of poems (Songs of Childhood) received a welcome which ‘hardly resembled that bestowed on hot cakes.’ Today, the American novelist and story-writer is best remembered for his poetry. Their deceptive simplicity and dreamy musical quality have made poems like ‘The Listeners’ and ‘Silver’ enduring favorites.
Bells and Grass was de la Mare’s third and last volume of poems for children. They were written, he said, by a ‘self that still delighted... in the old folktales and fairytales, in the old nursery rhymes and jingles, in early memories, and in whatever else goes with being young; whether merry or sad, grave or gay or tender.’
He continues: ‘As the years go by, we put away childish things. We have to. And yet what we love and delight in when we are young we may continue to love and delight in when we are old; and not much less ardently, perhaps. So with all that is meant by heart, feelings, mind, the fancy, and the imagination.’
Here are four poems from Bells and Grass. They should be read on a rainy day while listening to Satie’s Trois Gymnopédies.
{WHY?}
Ever, ever
Stir and shiver
The reeds and rushes
By the river:
Ever, ever,
As if in dream,
The lone moon’s silver
Sleeks the stream.
What old sorrow,
What lost love,
Moons, reeds, rushes,
Dream you of?
{COALS}
In drowsy fit
I hear the flames
Syllabling o’er
Their ancient names:
The coals—a glory
Of gold—blaze on,
Drenched with the suns
Of centuries gone;
While, at the window,
This rainy day
In darkening twilight
Dies away.
{WHERE}
Monkeys in a forest,
Beggarmen in rags,
Marrow in a knucklebone,
Gold in leather bags;
Dumplings in the oven,
Fishes in a pool,
Flowers in a parlour,
Dunces in a school;
Feathers in a pillow,
Cattle in a shed,
Honey in a beehive,
And me in bed.
{MERMAIDS}
Leagues, leagues over
The sea I sail
Couched on a wallowing
Dolphin’s tail:
The sky is on fire
The waves a-sheen;
I dabble my foot
In the billows green.
In a sea-weed hat
On the rocks I sit
Where tern and sea-mew
Glide and beat,
Where dark as shadows
The cormorants meet.
In caverns cool
When the tide’s a-wash,
I sound my conch
To the watery splash.
From out their grottoes
At evening’s beam
The mermaids swim
With locks agleam
To where I watch
On the yellow sands;
And they pluck sweet music
With sea-cold hands.
They bring me fruits
And amber clear;
But with the stars
Of gloaming grey
They cease their music
And glide away,
And swim to their grottoes
Across the bay.
They listen only
To my shrill tune
The surfy tide,
And the wandering moon.
• illustration by Dorothy P. Lathrop for ‘I Heard the Fairies in a Ring’ (Songs of Childhood) by Walter de la Mare •
June 18, 2013
BELLS AND GRASS