Walter de la Mare

Walter de la Mare

1873–1956 · lived 83 years GB GB

Walter de la Mare was an English poet, short story writer, and novelist. He is best known for his lyrical poetry, which often explores themes of childhood innocence, the supernatural, dreams, and the passage of time. His work is characterized by its musicality, delicate imagery, and a sense of wonder and melancholy. De la Mare also wrote significant prose, including ghost stories and novels for children, demonstrating a versatile imagination that bridged the adult and child's perspective.

n. 1873-04-25, Charlton · m. 1956-06-22, Twickenham

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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
On fields in leagues of beauty spread
Unearthly white.
Thick draws the dark,
And spark by spark,
The frost-fires kindle, and soon
Over that sea of frozen foam
Floats the white moon.
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Bio

Identification and basic context

Walter John de la Mare was an English poet, short story writer, and novelist. He is celebrated for his evocative and lyrical verse, often tinged with a sense of mystery and the supernatural. He wrote in English.

Childhood and education

Born in Charlton, Kent, de la Mare's early life was marked by the death of his father when he was young. He received his education at St. Paul's School in London. Following his schooling, he began working as a clerk for the Anglo-American Oil Company, a position he held for many years while simultaneously pursuing his literary career. His childhood experiences and his imaginative inner world were significant influences, often manifesting in his later writings.

Literary trajectory

De la Mare's literary career began with the publication of poems in magazines. His first collection of poetry, "Songs of Childhood," was published in 1902. He gained wider recognition with "The Listeners and Other Poems" (1912), which solidified his reputation as a significant poet. Throughout his career, he continued to publish poetry, short stories (often with supernatural themes), and novels, including notable works for children like "The Three Mulla-Mulgars" (1910). He also worked as a critic and reviewer.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Major works include "Songs of Childhood" (1902), "The Listeners and Other Poems" (1912), "Collected Poems 1901-1918" (1920), and "Desert Islands and Other Poems" (1930). His prose includes "Memoirs of a Midget" (1921) and "The Return" (1910). His poetry is characterized by its musicality, delicate and often exquisite imagery, and a consistent exploration of themes such as childhood, dreams, the uncanny, the afterlife, nature, and the passage of time. His style is refined, lyrical, and often melancholic, with a distinct rhyming structure and meter, though he also experimented with freer forms. His poetic voice is often one of gentle observation, tinged with a profound sense of mystery and wonder.

Cultural and historical context

De la Mare wrote during a period of significant literary change, straddling the late Victorian era, the Edwardian period, and the modernist movement. While not directly aligned with a specific movement, his work shares affinities with Symbolism in its evocation of mood and suggestion. His poetry often served as an escape from the increasingly industrialized and materialistic world, offering a contemplative and imaginative alternative. He maintained a wide circle of literary acquaintances.

Personal life

Walter de la Mare married Elsie Frances King. They had four children. He was known for his gentle and somewhat reserved personality. His long career as a clerk provided financial stability, allowing him to dedicate himself to writing. His deep interest in the spiritual and the unseen world is evident throughout his work.

Recognition and reception

De la Mare received considerable recognition during his lifetime, including the Order of Merit in 1948. His poetry was widely admired for its beauty and craftsmanship, and he was considered one of the leading poets of his generation. His collections were popular, and his works for children also found an appreciative audience. He was respected both by the public and the academic literary community.

Influences and legacy

He was influenced by earlier poets like Christina Rossetti, William Blake, and perhaps even some aspects of Romantic poetry. His own work has influenced subsequent generations of poets, particularly those interested in lyrical expression, the supernatural, and the exploration of childhood. His distinctive voice and thematic concerns have secured his place in the canon of 20th-century English poetry.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Critics often focus on the dreamlike quality of his poetry, its exploration of thresholds between the known and the unknown, and its subtle psychological insights. His work is frequently analyzed for its use of imagery, its musical qualities, and its ability to evoke a sense of otherworldly beauty and subtle unease.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

De la Mare maintained a lifelong fascination with the supernatural and the mysterious, which fueled many of his stories and poems. His early work in commerce provided a practical contrast to his imaginative literary pursuits. He was known for his quiet demeanor and his dedication to his craft.

Death and memory

Walter de la Mare died in 1956. His poems continue to be read and appreciated for their enduring beauty, craftsmanship, and unique exploration of the imagination and the mysteries of existence.

Poems

23

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
On fields in leagues of beauty spread
Unearthly white.
Thick draws the dark,
And spark by spark,
The frost-fires kindle, and soon
Over that sea of frozen foam
Floats the white moon.
365

Tom's Little Dog

Tom's Little Dog
Tom told his dog called Tim to beg,
And up at once he sat,
His two clear amber eyes fixed fast,
His haunches on his mat.Tom poised a lump of sugar on
His nose; then, "Trust!" says he;
Stiff as a guardsman sat his Tim;
Never a hair stirred he.
"Paid for!" says Tom; and in a trice
Up jerked that moist black nose;
A snap of teeth, a crunch, a munch,
And down the sugar goes!
257

When the Rose is Faded

When the Rose is Faded
When the rose is faded,
Memory may still dwell on
Her beauty shadowed,
And the sweet smell gone.
That vanishing loveliness,
That burdening breath,
No bond of life hath then,
Nor grief of death.
'Tis the immortal thought
Whose passion still
Makes the changing
The unchangeable.
Oh, thus thy beauty,
Loveliest on earth to me,
Dark with no sorrow, shines
And burns, with thee.
293

The Spirit of Air

The Spirit of Air
Coral and clear emerald,
And amber from the sea,
Lilac-coloured amethyst,
Chalcedony;
The lovely Spirit of Air
Floats on a cloud and doth ride,
Clad in the beauties of earth
Like a bride.
So doth she haunt me; and words
Tell but a tithe of the tale.
Sings all the sweetness of Spring
Even in the nightengale?
Nay, but with echoes she cries
Of the valley of love;
Dews on the thorns of her feet,
And darkness above.
368

The Song of Finis

The Song of Finis
At the edge of All the Ages
A Knight sate on his steed,
His armor red and thin with rust
His soul from sorrow freed;
And he lifted up his visor
From a face of skin and bone,
And his horse turned head and whinnied
As the twain stood there alone.
No bird above that steep of time
Sang of a livelong quest;
No wind breathed,
Rest:
"Lone for an end!" cried Knight to steed,
Loosed an eager rein--
Charged with his challenge into space:
And quiet did quiet remain.
343

The Mocking Fairy

The Mocking Fairy
'Won't you look out of your window, Mrs. Gill?'
Quoth the Fairy, nidding, nodding in the garden;
'Can't you look out of your window, Mrs. Gill?'
Quoth the Fairy, laughing softly in the garden;
But the air was still, the cherry boughs were still,
And the ivy-tod neath the empty sill,
And never from her window looked out Mrs. Gill
On the Fairy shrilly mocking in the garden.
'What have they done with you, you poor Mrs. Gill?'
Quoth the Fairy brightly glancing in the garden;
'Where have they hidden you, you poor old Mrs. Gill?'
Quoth the Fairy dancing lightly in the garden;
But night's faint veil now wrapped the hill,
Stark 'neath the stars stood the dead-still Mill,
And out of her cold cottage never answered Mrs. Gill
The Fairy mimbling, mambling in the garden.
293

The Scribe

The Scribe
What lovely things
Thy hand hath made:
The smooth-plumed bird
In its emerald shade,
The seed of the grass,
The speck of the stone
Which the wayfaring ant
Stirs -- and hastes on!
Though I should sit
By some tarn in thy hills,
Using its ink
As the spirit wills
To write of Earth's wonders,
Its live, willed things,
Flit would the ages
On soundless wings
Ere unto Z
My pen drew nigh
Leviathan told,
And the honey-fly:
And still would remain
My wit to try --
My worn reeds broken,
The dark tarn dry,
All words forgotten --
Thou, Lord, and I.
328

The Keys of Morning

The Keys of Morning
While at her bedroom window once,
Learning her task for school,
Little Louisa lonely sat
In the morning clear and cool,
She slanted her small bead-brown eyes
Across the empty street,
And saw Death softly watching her
In the sunshine pale and sweet.
His was a long lean sallow face;
He sat with half-shut eyes,
Like a old sailor in a ship
Becalmed 'neath tropic skies.
Beside him in the dust he had set
His staff and shady hat;
These, peeping small, Louisa saw
Quite clearly where she sat -
The thinness of his coal-black locks,
His hands so long and lean
They scarcely seemed to grasp at all
The keys that hung between:
Both were of gold, but one was small,
And with this last did he
Wag in the air, as if to say,
"Come hither, child, to me!"
Louisa laid her lesson book
On the cold window-sill;
And in the sleepy sunshine house
Went softly down, until
She stood in the half-opened door,
And peeped. But strange to say
Where Death just now had sunning sat
Only a shadow lay:
Just the tall chimney's round-topped cowl,
And the small sun behind,
Had with its shadow in the dust
Called sleepy Death to mind.
But most she thought how strange it was
Two keys that he should bear,
And that, when beckoning, he should wag
The littlest in the air.
320

The Ghost

The Ghost
Peace in thy hands,
Peace in thine eyes,
Peace on thy brow;
Flower of a moment in the eternal hour,
Peace with me now.
Not a wave breaks,
Not a bird calls,
My heart, like a sea,
Silent after a storm that hath died,
Sleeps within me.
All the night's dews,
All the world's leaves,
All winter's snow
Seem with their quiet to have stilled in life's dream
All sorrowing now.
304

Tartary

Tartary
If I were Lord of Tartary,
Myself, and me alone,
My bed should be of ivory,
Of beaten gold my throne;
And in my court should peacocks flaunt,
And in my forests tigers haunt,
And in my pools great fishes slant
Their fins athwart the sun.
If I were Lord of Tartary,
Trumpeters every day
To all my meals should summon me,
And in my courtyards bray;
And in the evening lamps should shine,
Yellow as honey, red as wine,
While harp, and flute, and mandoline
Made music sweet and gay.
If I were Lord of Tartary,
I'd wear a robe of beads,
White, and gold, and green they'd be --
And small and thick as seeds;
And ere should wane the morning star,
I'd don my robe and scimitar.
And zebras seven should draw my car
Through Tartary's dark gleades.
Lord of the fruits of Tartary.
Her rivers silver-pale!
Lord of the hills of Tartary.
Glen, thicket, wood, and dale!
Her flashing stars, her scented breeze,
Her trembling lakes, like foamless seas,
Her bird-delighting citron-trees,
In every purple vale!
388

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