The Project Gutenberg eBook of Peacock Pie, a Book of Rhymes

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Title: Peacock Pie, a Book of Rhymes

Author: Walter De la Mare

Release date: February 1, 2003 [eBook #3753]

Most recently updated: January 8, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3753

Credits: Produced by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEACOCK PIE, A BOOK OF RHYMES ***

Produced by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.

PEACOCK PIE

A Book of Rhymes

by

Walter de la Mare

'He told me his dreams. . .'

Isaac Watts

Table of Contents

UP AND DOWN

The Horseman

Up and Down

Mrs. Earth

Alas, Alack

Tired Tim

Mima

The Huntsmen

The Bandog

I Can't Abear

The Dunce

Chicken

Some One

Bread and Cherries

Old Shellover

Hapless

The Little Bird

Cake and Sack

The Ship of Rio

Tillie

Jim Jay

Miss T.

The Cupboard

The Barber's

Hide and Seek

BOYS AND GIRLS

Then

The Window

Poor Henry

Full Moon

The Bookworm

The Quartette

Mistletoe

The Lost Shoe

The Truants

THREE QUEER TALES

Berries

Off the Ground

The Thief at Robin's Castle

PLACES AND PEOPLE

A Widow's Weeds

'Sooeep!'

Mrs. MacQueen

The Little Green Orchard

Poor Miss 7

Sam

Andy Battle

The Old Soldier

The Picture

The Little Old Cupid

King David

The Old House

BEASTS

Unstooping

All But Blind

Nicholas Nye

The Pigs and The Charcoal Burner

Five Eyes

Grim

Tit for Tat

Summer Evening

Earth Folk

WITCHES AND FAIRIES

At the Keyhole

The Old Stone House

The Ruin

The Ride-by-Nights

Peak and Puke

The Changeling

The Mocking Fairy

Bewitched

The Honey Robbers

Longlegs

Melmillo

EARTH AND AIR

Trees

Silver

Nobody Knows

Wanderers

Many a Mickle

Will Ever?

SONGS

The Song of the Secret

The Song of Soldiers

The Bees' Song

A Song of Enchantment

Dream-Song

The Song of Shadows

The Song of the Mad prince

The Song of Finis

THE HORSEMAN

I heard a horseman

Ride over the hill;

The moon shone clear,

The night was still;

His helm was silver,

And pale was he;

And the horse he rode

Was of ivory.

UP AND DOWN

Down the Hill of Ludgate,

Up the Hill of Fleet,

To and fro and East and West

With people flows the street;

Even the King of England

On Temple Bar must beat

For leave to ride to Ludgate

Down the Hill of Fleet.

MRS. EARTH

Mrs. Earth makes silver black,

Mrs. Earth makes iron red

But Mrs. Earth can not stain gold,

Nor ruby red.

Mrs. earth the slenderest bone

Whitens in her bosom cold,

But Mrs. Earth can change my dreams

No more than ruby or gold.

Mrs. Earth and Mr. Sun

Can tan my skin, and tire my toes,

But all that I'm thinking of, ever shall think,

Why, either knows.

ALAS, ALACK!

Ann, Ann!

Come! Quick as you can!

There's a fish that talks

In the frying-pan.

Out of the fat,

As clear as glass,

He put up his mouth

And moaned 'Alas!'

Oh, most mournful,

'Alas, alack!'

Then turned to his sizzling,

And sank him back.

TIRED TIM

Poor Tired Tim! It's sad for him.

He lags the long bright morning through,

Ever so tired of nothing to do;

He moons and mopes the livelong day,

Nothing to think about, nothing to say;

Up to bed with his candle to creep,

Too tired to yawn, too tired to sleep:

Poor Tired Tim! It's sad for him.

MIMA

Jemima is my name,

But oh, I have another;

My father always calls me Meg,

And so do Bob and mother;

Only my sister, jealous of

The strands of my bright hair,

'Jemima - Mima - Mima!'

Calls, mocking, up the stair.

THE HUNTSMEN

Three jolly gentlemen,

In coats of red,

Rode their horses

Up to bed.

Three jolly gentlemen

Snored till morn,

Their horses champing

The golden corn.

Three jolly gentlemen,

At break of day,

Came clitter-clatter down the stairs

And galloped away.

THE BANDOG

Has anybody seen my Mopser? —

A comely dog is he,

With hair of the colour of a Charles the Fifth,

And teeth like ships at sea,

His tail it curls straight upwards,

His ears stand two abreast,

And he answers to the simple name of Mopser

When civilly addressed.

I CAN'T ABEAR

I can't abear a Butcher,

I can't abide his meat,

The ugliest shop of all is his,

The ugliest in the street;

Bakers' are warm, cobblers' dark,

Chemists' burn watery lights;

But oh, the sawdust butcher's shop,

That ugliest of sights!

THE DUNCE

Why does he still keep ticking?

Why does his round white face

Stare at me over the books and ink,

And mock at my disgrace?

Why does that thrush call, 'Dunce, dunce, dunce!'?

Why does that bluebottle buzz?

Why does the sun so silent shine? —

And what do I care if it does?

CHICKEN

Clapping her platter stood plump Bess,

And all across the green

Came scampering in, on wing and claw,

Chicken fat and lean:

Dorking, Spaniard, Cochin China,

Bantams sleek and small,

Like feathers blown in a great wind,

They came at Bessie's call.

SOME ONE

Some one came knocking

At my wee, small door;

Some one came knocking,

I'm sure - sure - sure;

I listened, I opened,

I looked to left and right,

But naught there was a-stirring

In the still dark night;

Only the busy beetle

Tap-tapping in the wall,

Only from the forest

The screech-owl's call,

Only the cricket whistling

While the dewdrops fall,

So I know not who came knocking,

At all, at all, at all.

BREAD AND CHERRIES

'Cherries, ripe cherries!'

The old woman cried,

In her snowy white apron,

And basket beside;

And the little boys came,

Eyes shining, cheeks red,

To buy a bag of cherries,

To eat with their bread.

OLD SHELLOVER

'Come!' said Old Shellover.

'What?' says Creep.

'The horny old Gardener's fast asleep;

The fat cock Thrush

To his nest has gone;

And the dew shines bright

In the rising Moon;

Old Sallie Worm from her hole doth peep:

Come!' said Old Shellover.

'Aye!' said Creep.

HAPLESS

Hapless, hapless, I must be

All the hours of life I see,

Since my foolish nurse did once

Bed me on her leggen bones;

Since my mother did not weel

To snip my nails with blades of steel.

Had they laid me on a pillow

In a cot of water willow,

Had they bitten finger and thumb,

Not to such ill hap I had come.

THE LITTLE BIRD

My dear Daddie bought a mansion

For to bring my Mammie to,

In a hat with a long feather,

And a trailing gown of blue;

And a company of fiddlers

And a rout of maids and men

Danced the clock round to the morning,

In a gay house-warming then.

And when all the guests were gone, and

All was still as still can be,

In from the dark ivy hopped a

Wee small bird: and that was Me.

CAKE AND SACK

Old King Caraway

Supped on cake,

And a cup of sack

His thirst to slake;

Bird in arras

And hound in hall

Watched very softly

Or not at all;

Fire in the middle,

Stone all round

Changed not, heeded not,

Made no sound;

All by himself

At the Table High

He'd nibble and sip

While his dreams slipped by;

And when he had finished,

He'd nod and say,

'Cake and sack

For King Caraway!'

THE SHIP OF RIO

There was a ship of Rio

Sailed out into the blue,

And nine and ninety monkeys

Were all her jovial crew.

From bo'sun to the cabin boy,

From quarter to caboose,

There weren't a stitch of calico

To breech 'em - tight or loose;

From spar to deck, from deck to keel,

From barnacle to shroud,

There weren't one pair of reach-me-downs

To all that jabbering crowd.

But wasn't it a gladsome sight,

When roared the deep sea gales,

To see them reef her fore and aft

A-swinging by their tails!

Oh, wasn't it a gladsome sight,

When glassy calm did come,

To see them squatting tailor-wise

Around a keg of rum!

Oh, wasn't it a gladsome sight,

When in she sailed to land,

To see them all a-scampering skip

For nuts across the sand!

TILLIE

Old Tillie Turveycombe

Sat to sew,

Just where a patch of fern did grow;

There, as she yawned,

And yawn wide did she,

Floated some seed

Down her gull-e-t;

And look you once,

And look you twice,

Poor old Tillie

Was gone in a trice.

But oh, when the wind

Do a-moaning come,

'Tis poor old Tillie

Sick for home;

And oh, when a voice

In the mist do sigh,

Old Tillie Turveycombe's

Floating by.

JIM JAY

Do diddle di do,

Poor Jim Jay

Got stuck fast

In Yesterday.

Squinting he was,

On Cross-legs bent,

Never heeding

The wind was spent.

Round veered the weathercock,

The sun drew in -

And stuck was Jim

Like a rusty pin…

We pulled and we pulled

From seven till twelve,

Jim, too frightened

To help himself.

But all in vain.

The clock struck one,

And there was Jim

A little bit gone.

At half-past five

You scarce could see

A glimpse of his flapping

Handkerchee.

And when came noon,

And we climbed sky-high,

Jim was a speck

Slip - slipping by.

Come to-morrow,

The neighbours say,

He'll be past crying for;

Poor Jim Jay.

MISS T.

It's a very odd thing ——-

As odd as can be —-

That whatever Miss T. eats

Turns into Miss T.;

Porridge and apples,

Mince, muffins and mutton,

Jam, junket, jumbles ——

Not a rap, not a button

It matters; the moment

They're out of her plate,

Though shared by Miss Butcher

And sour Mr. Bate;

Tiny and cheerful,

And neat as can be,

Whatever Miss T. eats

Turns into Miss T.

THE CUPBOARD

I know a little cupboard,

With a teeny tiny key,

And there's a jar of Lollypops

For me, me, me.

It has a little shelf, my dear,

As dark as dark can be,

And there's a dish of Banbury Cakes

For me, me, me.

I have a small fat grandmamma,

With a very slippery knee,

And she's the Keeper of the Cupboard

With the key, key, key.

And I'm very good, my dear,

As good as good can be,

There's Branbury Cakes, and Lollypops

For me, me, me.

THE BARBER'S

Gold locks, and black locks,

Red locks and brown,

Topknot to love-curl

The hair wisps down;

Straight above the clear eyes,

Rounded round the ears,

Snip-snap and snick-a-snick,

Clash the Barber's shears;

Us, in the looking-glass,

Footsteps in the street,

Over, under, to and fro,

The lean blades meet;

Bay Rum or Bear's Grease,

A silver groat to pay -

Then out a-shin-shan-shining

In the bright, blue day.

HIDE AND SEEK

Hide and seek, says the Wind,

In the shade of the woods;

Hide and seek, says the Moon,

To the hazel buds;

Hide and seek, says the Cloud,

Star on to star;

Hide and seek, says the Wave,

At the harbour bar;

Hide and seek, say I,

To myself, and step

Out of the dream of Wake

Into the dream of Sleep.

BOYS AND GIRLS

THEN

Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty

A hundred years ago,

All through the night with lantern bright

The Watch trudged to and fro,

And little boys tucked snug abed

Would wake from dreams to hear -

'Two o' the morning by the clock,

And the stars a-shining clear!'

Or, when across the chimney-tops

Screamed shrill a North-East gale,

A faint and shaken voice would shout,

'Three! And a storm of hail!'

THE WINDOW

Behind the blinds I sit and watch

The people passing - passing by;

And not a single one can see

My tiny watching eye.

They cannot see my little room,

All yellowed with the shaded sun;

They do not even know I'm here;

Nor'll guess when I am gone.

POOR HENRY

Thick in its glass

The physic stands,

Poor Henry lifts

Distracted hands;

His round cheek wans

In the candlelight,

To smell that smell!

To see that sight!

Finger and thumb

Clinch his small nose,

A gurgle, a gasp,

And down it goes;

Scowls Henry now;

But mark that cheek,

Sleek with the bloom

Of health next week!

FULL MOON

One night as Dick lay half asleep,

Into his drowsy eyes

A great still light begins to creep

From out the silent skies.

It was lovely moon's, for when

He raised his dreamy head,

Her surge of silver filled the pane

And streamed across his bed.

So, for a while, each gazed at each -

Dick and the solemn moon -

Till, climbing slowly on her way,

She vanished, and was gone.

THE BOOKWORM

'I'm tired - Oh, tired of books,' said Jack,

'I long for meadows green,

And woods, where shadowy violets

Nod their cool leaves between;

I long to see the ploughman stride

His darkening acres o'er,

To hear the hoarse sea-waters drive

Their billows 'gainst the shore;

I long to watch the sea-mew wheel

Back to her rock-perched mate;

Or, where the breathing cows are housed,

Lean dreaming o'er the gate.

Something has gone, and ink and print

Will never bring it back;

I long for the green fields again,

I'm tired of books,' said Jack.

THE QUARTETTE

Tom sang for joy and Ned sang for joy and old Sam sang for joy;

All we four boys piped up loud, just like one boy;

And the ladies that sate with the Squire - their cheeks were all wet,

For the noise of the voice of us boys, when we sang our Quartette.

Tom he piped low and Ned he piped low and old Sam he piped low;

Into a sorrowful fall did our music flow;

And the ladies that sate with the Squire vowed they'd never forget

How the eyes of them cried for delight, when we sang our Quartette.

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

Nodding under the mistletoe

(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),

No footsteps came, no voice, but only,

Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,

Stooped in the still and shadowy air

Lips unseen - and kissed me there.

THE LOST SHOE

Poor little Lucy

By some mischance,

Lost her shoe

As she did dance -

'Twas not on the stairs,

Not in the hall;

Not where they sat

At supper at all.

She looked in the garden,

But there it was not;

Henhouse, or kennel,

Or high dovecote.

Dairy and meadow,

And wild woods through

Showed not a trace

Of Lucy's shoe.

Bird nor bunny

Nor glimmering moon

Breathed a whisper

Of where 'twas gone.

It was cried and cried,

Oyez and Oyez!

In French, Dutch, Latin,

And Portuguese.

Ships the dark seas

Went plunging through,

But none brought news

Of Lucy's shoe;

And still she patters

In silk and leather,

O'er snow, sand, shingle,

In every weather;

Spain, and Africa,

Hindustan,

Java, China,

And lamped Japan;

Plain and desert,

She hops-hops through,

Pernambuco

To gold Peru;

Mountain and forest,

And river too,

All the world over

For her lost shoe.

THE TRUANTS

Ere my heart beats too coldly and faintly

To remember sad things, yet be gay,

I would sing a brief song of the world's little children

Magic hath stolen away.

The primroses scattered by April,

The stars of the wide Milky Way,

Cannot outnumber the hosts of the children

Magic hath stolen away.

The buttercup green of the meadows,

The snow of the blossoming may,

Lovelier are not than the legions of children

Magic hath stolen away.

The waves tossing surf in the moonbeam,

The albatross lone on the spray,

Alone know the tears wept in vain for the children

Magic hath stolen away.

In vain: for at hush of the evening,

When the stars twinkle into the grey,

Seems to echo the far-away calling of children

Magic hath stolen away.

THREE QUEER TALES

BERRIES

There was an old woman

Went blackberry picking

Along the hedges

From Weep to Wicking. -

Half a pottle-

No more she had got,

When out steps a Fairy

From her green grot;

And says, 'Well, Jill,

Would 'ee pick ee mo?'

And Jill, she curtseys,

And looks just so.

Be off,' says the Fairy,

'As quick as you can,

Over the meadows

To the little green lane

That dips to the hayfields

Of Farmer Grimes:

I've berried those hedges

A score of times;

Bushel on bushel

I'll promise'ee, Jill,

This side of supper

If'ee pick with a will.'

She glints very bright,

And speaks her fair;

Then lo, and behold!

She had faded in air.

Be sure Old Goodie

She trots betimes

Over the meadows

To Farmer Grimes.

And never was queen

With jewelry rich

As those same hedges

From twig to ditch;

Like Dutchmen's coffers,

Fruit, thorn, and flower -

They shone like William

And Mary's bower.

And be sure Old Goodie

Went back to Weep,

So tired with her basket

She scarce could creep.

When she comes in the dusk

To her cottage door,

There's Towser wagging

As never before,

To see his Missus

So glad to be

Come from her fruit-picking

Back to he.

As soon as next morning

Dawn was grey,

The pot on the hob

Was simmering away;

And all in a stew

And a hugger-mugger

Towser and Jill

A-boiling of sugar,

And the dark clear fruit

That from Faerie came,

For syrup and jelly

And blackberry jam.

Twelve jolly gallipots

Jill put by;

And one little teeny one,

One inch high;

And that she's hidden

A good thumb deep,

Half way over

From Wicking to Weep.

OFF THE GROUND

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! -

And away they go,

Not too fast,

And not too slow;

Out from the elm-tree's

Noonday shadow,

Into the sun

And across the meadow.

Past the schoolroom,

With knees well bent

Fingers a-flicking,

They dancing went.

Up sides and over,

And round and round,

They crossed click-clacking,

The Parish bound,

By Tupman's meadow

They did their mile,

Tee-t-tum

On a three-barred stile.

Then straight through Whipham,

Downhill to Week,

Footing it lightsome,

But not too quick,

Up fields to Watchet,

And on through Wye,

Till seven fine churches

They'd seen skip by -

Seven fine churches,

And five old mills,

Farms in the valley,

And sheep on the hills;

Old Man's Acre

And Dead Man's Pool

All left behind,

As they danced through Wool.

And Wool gone by,

Like tops that seem

To spin in sleep

They danced in dream;

Withy - Wellover -

Wassop-Wo-

Like an old clock

Their heels did go.

A league and a league

And a league they went,

And not one weary,

And not one spent.

And Io, and behold!

Past Willow-cum-Leigh

Stretched with its waters

The great green sea.

Says Farmer Bates,

I puffs and I blows,

What's under the water,

Why, no man knows!'

Says Farmer Giles,

'My wind comes weak,

And a good man drownded

Is far to seek.'

But Farmer Turvey,

On twirling toes

Up's with his gaiters,

And in he goes:

Down where the mermaids

Pluck and play

On their twangling harps

In a sea-green day;

Down where the mermaids,

Finned and fair,

Sleek with their combs

Their yellow hair….

Bates and Giles-

On the shingle sat,

Gazing at Turvey's

Floating hat.

But never a ripple

Nor bubble told

Where he was supping

Off plates of gold.

Never an echo

Rilled through the sea

Of the feasting and dancing

And minstrelsy.

They called-called-called:

Came no reply:

Nought but the ripples'

Sandy sigh.

Then glum and silent

They sat instead,

Vacantly brooding

On home and bed,

Till both together

Stood up and said.-

'Us knows not, dreams not,

Where you be,

Turvey, unless

In the deep blue sea;

But axcusing silver-

And it comes most willing -

Here's us two paying

Our forty shilling;

For it's sartin sure, Turvey,

Safe and sound,

You danced us square, Turvey,

Off the ground!'

THE THIEF AT ROBIN'S CASTLE

There came a Thief one night to Robin's Castle,

He climbed up into a Tree;

And sitting with his head among the branches,

A wondrous Sight did see.

For there was Robin supping at his table,

With Candles of pure Wax,

His Dame and his two beauteous little Children,

With Velvet on their backs.

Platters for each there were shin-shining,

Of Silver many a pound,

And all of beaten Gold, three brimming Goblets,

Standing the table round.

The smell that rose up richly from the Baked Meats

Came thinning amid the boughs,

And much that greedy Thief who snuffed the night air-

His Hunger did arouse.

He watched them eating, drinking, laughing, talking,

Busy with finger and spoon,

While three most cunning Fiddlers, clad in crimson,

Played them a supper-tune.

And he waited in the tree-top like a Starling,

Till the Moon was gotten low;

When all the windows in the walls were darkened,

He softly in did go.

There Robin and his Dame in bed were sleeping,

And his Children young and fair;

Only Robin's Hounds from their warm kennels

Yelped as he climbed the stair.

All, all were sleeping, page and fiddler,

Cook, scullion, free from care;

Only Robin's Stallions from their stables

Neighed as he climbed the stair.

A wee wan light the Moon did shed him,

Hanging above the sea,

And he counted into his bag (of beaten Silver)

Platters thirty-three.

Of Spoons three score; of jolly golden Goblets

He stowed in four save one,

And six fine three-branched Cupid Candlesticks,

Before his work was done.

Nine bulging bags of Money in a cupboard,

Two Snuffers, and a Dish

He found, the last all studded with great Garnets

And shapen like a Fish.

Then tiptoe up he stole into a Chamber,

Where on Tasselled Pillows lay

Robin and his Daule in dreaming slumbers

Tired with the summer's day.

That Thief he mimbled round him in the gloaming,

Their treasure for to spy,

Combs, Brooches, Chains, and, Rings, and Pins and Buckles

All higgledy, Piggle-dy.

A Watch shaped in the shape of a flat Apple

In purest crystal set

He lifted from the hook where it was ticking

And crammed in his Pochette.

He heaped the pretty Baubles on the table,

Trinketsi Knick-knackerie,

Pearls, Diamonds, Sapphires, Topazes, and Opals-

All in his bag put he.

And there in night's pale Gloom was Robin dreaming

He was hunting the mountain Bear,

While his Dame in peaceful slumber in no wise heeded

A greedy Thief was there.

And that ravenous Thief he climbed up even higher,

Till into a chamber small

He crept where lay poor Robin's beauteous Children,

Lovelier in sleep withal.

Oh, fairer was their Hair than Gold of Goblet,

'Yond Silver their Cheeks did shine,

And their little hands that lay upon the linen

Made that Thief's hard heart to pine.

But though a moment there his hard heart faltered,

Eftsoones be took them twain,

And slipped them into his Bag with all his Plunder,

And soft stole down again.

Spoon, Platter, Goblet, Ducats, Dishes, Trinkets,

And those two Children dear,

A-quaking in the clinking and the clanking,

And half bemused with fear,

He carried down the stairs into the Courtyard,

But there he made no stay,

He just tied up his Garters, took a deep breath,

And ran like the wind away.

Past Forest, River, Mountain, River, Forest-

He coursed the whole night through,

Till morning found him come into a Country,

Where none his bad face knew.

Past Mountain, River, Forest, River, Mountain-

That Thief's lean shanks sped on,

Till Evening found him knocking at a Dark House,

His breath now well-nigh gone.

There came a little maid and asked his Business;

A Cobbler dwelt within;

And though she much misliked the Bag he carried,

She led the Bad Man in.

He bargained with the Cobbler for a lodging

And soft laid down his Sack-

In the Dead of Night, with none to spy or listen-

From off his weary back.

And he taught the little Chicks to call him Father,

And he sold his stolen Pelf,

And bought a Palace, Horses, Slaves, and Peacocks

To ease his wicked self.

And though the Children never really loved him,

He was rich past all belief;

While Robin and his Dame o'er Delf and Pewter

Spent all their Days in Grief.

PLACES AND PEOPLE

A WIDOW'S WEEDS

A poor old Widow in her weeds

Sowed her garden with wild-flower seeds;

Not too shallow, and not too deep,

And down came April — drip — drip — drip.

Up shone May, like gold, and soon

Green as an arbour grew leafy June.

And now all summer she sits and sews

Where willow herb, comfrey, bugloss blows,

Teasle and pansy, meadowsweet,

Campion, toadflax, and rough hawksbit;

Brown bee orchis, and Peals of Bells;

Clover, burnet, and thyme she smells;

Like Oberon's meadows her garden is

Drowsy from dawn to dusk with bees.

Weeps she never, but sometimes sighs,

And peeps at her garden with bright brown eyes;

And all she has is all she needs —

A poor Old Widow in her weeds.

'SOOEEP!'

Black as a chimney is his face,

And ivory white his teeth,

And in his brass-bound cart he rides,

The chestnut blooms beneath.

'Sooeep, Sooeep!' he cries, and brightly peers

This way and that, to see

With his two light-blue shining eyes

What custom there may be.

And once inside the house, he'll squat,

And drive his rods on high,

Till twirls his sudden sooty brush

Against the morning sky.

Then, 'mid his bulging bags of soot,

With half the world asleep,

His small cart wheels him off again,

Still hoarsely bawling, 'Sooeep!'

MRS. MACQUEEN (OR THE LOLLIE-SHOP)

With glass like a bull's-eye,

And shutters of green,

Down on the cobbles

Lives Mrs. MacQueen,

At six she rises;

At nine you see

Her candle shine out

In the linden tree:

And at half-past nine

Not a sound is nigh

But the bright moon's creeping

Across the sky;

Or a far dog baying;

Or a twittering bird

In its drowsy nest,

In the darkness stirred;

Or like the roar

Of a distant sea

A long-drawn S-s-sh

In the linden tree.

THE LITTLE GREEN ORCHARD

Some one is always sitting there,

In the little green orchard;

Even when the sun is high

In noon's unclouded sky,

And faintly droning goes

The bee from rose to rose,

Some one in shadow is sitting there

In the little green orchard.

Yes, when the twilight's falling softly

In the little green orchard;

When the grey dew distills

And every flower-cup fills;

When the last blackbird says,

'What - what!' and goes her way - ssh!

I have heard voices calling softly

In the little green orchard

Not that I am afraid of being there,

In the little green orchard;

Why, when the moon's been bright,

Shedding her lonesome light,

And moths like ghosties come,

And the horned snail leaves home:

I've sat there, whispering and listening there,

In the little green orchard.

Only it's strange to be feeling there,

In the little green orchard;

Whether you paint or draw,

Dig, hammer, chop or saw;

When you are most alone,

All but the silence gone…

Some one is watching and waiting there,

In the little green orchard.

POOR 'MISS 7'

Lone and alone she lies,

Poor Miss 7,

Five steep flights from the earth,

And one from heaven;

Dark hair and dark brown eyes, -

Not to be sad she tries,

Still - still it's lonely lies

Poor Miss 7.

One day-long watch hath she,

Poor Miss 7,

Not in some orchard sweet

In April Devon -

Just four blank walls to see,

And dark come shadowily,

No moon, no stars, ah me!

Poor Miss 7.

And then to wake again,

Poor Miss 7,

To the cold night, to have

Sour physic given;

Out of some dream of pain,

Then strive long hours in vain

Deep dreamless sleep to gain:

Poor Miss 7.

Yet memory softly sings

Poor Miss 7

Songs full of love and peace

And gladness even;

Clear flowers and tiny wings,

All tender, lovely things,

Hope to her bosom brings -

Happy Miss 7.

SAM

When Sam goes back in memory,

It is to where the sea

Breaks on the shingle, emerald-green,

In white foam, endlessly;

He says - with small brown eye on mine-

'I used to keep awake,

And lean from my window in the moon,

Watching those billows break.

And half a million tiny hands,

And eyes, like sparks of frost,

Would dance and come tumbling into the moon,

On every breaker tossed.

And all across from star to star,

I've seen the watery sea,

With not a single ship in sight,

Just ocean there, and me;

And heard my father snore. And once,

As sure as I'm alive,

Out of those wallowing, moon-flecked waves

I saw a mermaid dive;

Head and shoulders above the wave,

Plain as I now see you,

Combing her hair, now back, now front,

Her two eyes peeping through;

Calling me, 'Sam!' -quietlike- 'Sam!'…

But me …. I never went,

Making believe I kind of thought

'Twas some one else she meant….

Wonderful lovely there she sat,

Singing the night away,

All in the solitudinous sea

Of that there lonely bay.

P'raps,' and he'd smooth his hairless mouth,

'P'raps, if 'twere now, my son,

Praps, if I heard a voice say, 'Sam!'…

Morning would find we gone.'

ANDY BATTLE

Once and there was a young sailor, yeo ho!

And he sailed out over the say

For the isles where pink coral and palm branches blow,

And the fire-flies turn night into day,

Yeo ho!

And the fire-flies turn night into day.

But the Dolphin went down in a tempest, yeo ho!

And with three forsook sailors ashore,

The portingales took him wh'ere sugar-canes grow,

Their slave for to be evermore,

Yeo ho!

Their slave for to be evermore.

With his musket for mother and brother, yeo ho!

He warred with the Cannibals drear,

in forests where panthers pad soft to and fro,

And the Pongo shakes noonday with fear,

Yeo ho!

And the Pongo shakes noonday with fear.

Now lean with long travail, all wasted with woe,

With a monkey for messmate and friend,

He sits 'neath the Cross in the cankering snow,

And waites for his sorrowful end,

Yeo ho!

And waits for his sorrowful end.

THE OLD SOLDIER

There came an Old Soldier to my door,

Asked a crust, and asked no more;

The wars had thinned him very bare,

Fighting and marching everywhere,

With a Fol rol dol rol di do.

With nose stuck out, and cheek sunk in,

A bristling beard upon his chin -

Powder and bullets and wounds and drums

Had come to that Soldier as suchlike comes -

With a Fol rol dol rol di do.

'Twas sweet and fresh with buds of May,

Flowers springing from every spray;

And when he had supped the Old Soldier trolled

The song of youth that never grows old,

Called Fol rol dol rol di do.

Most of him rags, and all of him lean,

And the belt round his belly drawn tightsome in

He lifted his peaked old grizzled head,

And these were the very same words he said-

A Fol-rol-dol-rol-di-do.

THE PICTURE

Here is a sea-legged sailor,

Come to this tottering Inn,

Just when the bronze on its signboard is fading,

And the black shades of evening begin.

With his head on thick paws sleeps a sheep-dog,

There stoops the Shepherd, and see,

All follow-my-leader the ducks waddle homeward,

Under the sycamore tree.

Very brown is the face of the Sailor,

His bundle is crimson, and green

Are the thick leafy boughs that hang dense o'er the Tavern,

And blue the far meadows between.

But the Crust, Ale and Cheese of the Sailor,

His Mug and his platter of Delf,

And the crescent to light home the Shepherd and Sheep-dog

The painter has kept to himself.

THE LITTLE OLD CUPID

'Twas a very small garden;

The paths were of stone,

Scattered with leaves,

With moss overgrown;

And a little old Cupid

Stood under a tree,

With a small broken bow

He stood aiming at me.

The dog-rose in briars

Hung over the weeds,

The air was aflock

With the floating of seed,

And a little old Cupid

Stood under a tree,

With a small broken bow

He stood aiming at me.

The dovecote was tumbling,

The fountain dry,

A wind in the orchard

Went whispering by;

And a little old Cupid

Stood under a tree,

With a small broken bow

He stood aiming at me.

KING DAVID

King David was a sorrowful man:

No cause for his sorrow had he;

And he called for the music of a hundred harps,

To ease his melancholy.

They played till they all fell silent:

Played-and play sweet did they;

But the sorrow that haunted the heart of King David

They could not charm away.

He rose; and in his garden

Walked by the moon alone,

A nightingale hidden in a cypress-tree

Jargoned on and on.

King David lifted his sad eyes

Into the dark-boughed tree-

''Tell me, thou little bird that singest,

Who taught my grief to thee?'

But the bird in no wise heeded

And the king in the cool of the moon

Hearkened to the nightingale's sorrowfulness,

Till all his own was gone.

THE OLD HOUSE

A very, very old house I know-

And ever so many people go,

Past the small lodge, forlorn and still,

Under the heavy branches, till

Comes the blank wall, and there's the door.

Go in they do; come out no more.

No voice says aught; no spark of light

Across that threshold cheers the sight;

Only the evening star on high

Less lonely makes a lonely sky,

As, one by one, the people go

Into that very old house I know.

BEASTS

UNSTOOPING

Low on his fours the Lion

Treads with the surly Bear',

But Men straight upward from the dust

Walk with their heads in air;

The free sweet winds of heaven,

The sunlight from on high

Beat on their clear bright cheeks and brows

As they go striding by;

The doors of all their houses

They arch so they may go,

Uplifted o'er the four-foot beasts,

Unstooping, to and fro.

ALL BUT BLIND

All but blind

In his cambered hole

Gropes for worms

The four-clawed Mole.

All but blind

In the evening sky

The hooded Bat

Twirls softly by.

All but blind

In the burning day

The Barn-Owl blunders

On her way.

And blind as are

These three to me,

So blind to someone

I must be.

NICHOLAS NYE

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,

While the birds went twittering by,

And nobody there my lone to share

But Nicholas Nye.

Nicholas Nye was lean and gray,

Lame of leg and old,

More than a score of donkey's years

He had been since he was foaled;

He munched the thistles, purple and spiked,

Would sometimes stoop and sigh,

And turn to his head, as if he said,

"Poor Nicholas Nye!"

Alone with his shadow he'd drowse in the meadow,

Lazily swinging his tail,

At break of day he used to bray,—

Not much too hearty and hale;

But a wonderful gumption was under his skin,

And a clean calm light in his eye,

And once in a while; he'd smile:—

Would Nicholas Nye.

Seem to be smiling at me, he would,

From his bush in the corner, of may,—

Bony and ownerless, widowed and worn,

Knobble-kneed, lonely and gray;

And over the grass would seem to pass

'Neath the deep dark blue of the sky,

Something much better than words between me

And Nicholas Nye.

But dusk would come in the apple boughs,

The green of the glow-worm shine,

The birds in nest would crouch to rest,

And home I'd trudge to mine;

And there, in the moonlight, dark with dew,

Asking not wherefore nor why,

Would brood like a ghost, and as still as a post,

Old Nicholas Nye.

THE PIGS AND THE CHARCOAL - BURNER

The old Pig said to the little pigs,

'In the forest is truffles and mast,

Follow me then, all ye little pigs,

Follow me fast!'

The Charcoal-burner sat in the shade

With his chin on his thumb,

And saw the big Pig and the little pigs,

Chuffling come.

He watched 'neath a green and giant bough,

And the pigs in the ground

Made a wonderful grizzling and gruzzling

And a greedy sound.

And when, full-fed they were gone, and Night

Walked her starry ways,

He stared with his cheeks in his hands

At his sullen blaze.

FIVE EYES

In Hans' old Mill his three black cats

Watch the bins for the thieving rats.

Whisker and claw, they crouch in the night,

Their five eyes smouldering green and bright:

Squeaks from the flour sacks, squeaks from where

The cold wind stirs on the empty stair,

Squeaking and scampering, everywhere.

Then down they pounce, now in, now out,

At whisking tail, and sniffing snout;

While lean old Hans he snores away

Till peep of light at break of day;

Then up he climbs to his creaking mill,

Out come his cats all grey with meal —

Jekkel, and Jessup, and one-eyed Jill.

GRIM

Beside the blaze of forty fires

Giant Grim doth sit,

Roasting a thick-woolled mountain sheep

Upon an iron spit.

Above him wheels the winter sky,

Beneath him, fathoms deep,

Lies hidden in the valley mists

A village fast asleep —-

Save for one restive hungry dog

That, snuffing towards the height,

Smells Grim's broiled supper-meat, and spies

His watch-fire twinkling bright.

TIT FOR TAT

Have you been catching of fish, Tom Noddy?

Have you snared a weeping hare?

Have you whistled, 'No Nunny,'and gunned a poor

bunny,

Or a blinded bird of the air?

Have you trod like a murderer through the green

woods,

Through the dewy deep dingles and glooms,

While every small creature screamed shrill to Dame

Nature,

'He comes —and he comes!'?

Wonder I very much do, Tom Noddy,

If ever, when you are a-roam,

An Ogre from space will stoop a lean face

And lug you home:

Lug you home over his fence, Tom Noddy,

Of thorn-sticks nine yards high,

With your bent knees strung round his old iron gun

And your head dan-dangling by:

And hang you up stiff on a hook, Tom Noddy,

From a stone-cold pantry shelf,

Whence your eyes will glare in an empty stare,

Till you're cooked yourself!

SUMMER EVENING

The sandy cat by the Farmer's chair

Mews at his knee for dainty fare;

Old Rover in his moss-greened house

Mumbles a bone, and barks at a mouse

In the dewy fields the cattle lie

Chewing the cud 'neath a fading sky

Dobbin at manger pulls his hay:

Gone is another summer's day.

EARTH FOLK

The cat she walks on padded claws,

The wolf on the hills lays stealthy paws,

Feathered birds in the rain-sweet sky

At their ease in the air, flit low, flit high.

The oak's blind, tender roots pierce deep,

His green crest towers, dimmed in sleep,

Under the stars whose thrones are set

Where never prince hath journeyed yet.

WITCHES AND FAIRIES

AT THE KEYHOLE

'Grill me some bones,' said the Cobbler,

'Some bones, my pretty Sue;

I'm tired of my lonesome with heels and soles,

Springsides and uppers too;

A mouse in the wainscot is nibbling;

A wind in the keyhole drones;

And a sheet webbed over my candle, Susie, —-

Grill me some bones!'

'Grill me some bones,' said the Cobbler,

I sat at my tic-tac-to;

And a footstep came to my door and stopped,

And a hand groped to and fro;

And I peered up over my boot and last;

And my feet went cold as stones:

I saw an eye at the keyhole, Susie! —-

Grill me some bones!'

THE OLD STONE HOUSE

Nothing on the grey roof, nothing on the brown,

Only a little greening where the rain drips down;

Nobody at the window, nobody at the door,

Only a little hollow which a foot once wore;

But still I tread on tiptoe, still tiptoe on I go,

Past nettles, porch, and weedy well, for oh, I know

A friendless face is peering, and a still clear eye

Peeps closely through the casement

as my step goes by.

THE RUIN

When the last colours of the day

Have from their burning ebbed away,

About that ruin, cold and lone,

The cricket shrills from stone to stone;

And scattering o'er its darkened green,

Bands of the fairies may be seen,

Chattering like grasshoppers, their feet

Dancing a thistledown dance round it:

While the great gold of the mild moon

Tinges their tiny acorn shoon.

THE RIDE-BY-NIGHTS

Up on their brooms the Witches stream,

Crooked and black in the crescent's gleam;

One foot high, and one foot low,

Bearded, cloaked, and cowled, they go,

'Neath Charlie's Wain they twitter and tweet,

And away they swarm 'neath the Dragon's feet,

With a whoop and a flutter they swing and sway,

And surge pell-mell down the Milky Way.

Betwixt the legs of the glittering Chair

They hover and squeak in the empty air.

Then round they swoop past the glimmering Lion

To where Sirius barks behind huge Orion;

Up, then, and over to wheel amain,

Under the silver, and home again.

PEAK AND PUKE

From his cradle in the glamourie

They have stolen my wee brother,

Housed a changeling in his swaddlings

For to fret my own poor mother.

Pules it in the candle light

Wi' a cheek so lean and white,

Chinkling up its eyne so wee

Wailing shrill at her an' me.

It we'll neither rock nor tend

Till the Silent Silent send,

Lapping in their awesome arms

Him they stole with spells and charms,

Till they take this changeling creature

Back to its own fairy nature —

Cry! Cry! As long as may be,

Ye shall ne'er be woman's baby!

THE CHANGELING

'Ahoy, and ahoy!'

'Twixt mocking and merry —

'Ahoy and ahoy, there,

Young man of the ferry!'

She stood on the steps

In the watery gloom —-

That Changeling —'Ahoy, there!'

She called him to come.

He came on the green wave,

He came on the grey,

Where stooped that sweet lady

That still summer's day.

He fell in a dream

Of her beautiful face,

As she sat on the thwart

And smiled in her place.

No echo his oar woke,

Float silent did they,

Past low-grazing cattle

In the sweet of the hay.

And still in a dream

At her beauty sat he,

Drifting stern foremost

Down — down to the sea.

Come you, then: call,

When the twilight apace

Brings shadow to brood

On the loveliest face;

You shall hear o'er the water

Ring faint in the grey —-

'Ahoy, and ahoy, there!'

And tremble away;

'Ahoy, and ahoy!…'

And tremble away.

THE MOCKING FAIRY

'Won't you look out of your window, Mrs. Gill?'

Quoth the Fairy, niddling, 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.

BEWITCHED

I have heard a lady this night,

Lissom and jimp and slim,

Calling me — calling me over the heather,

'Neath the beech boughs dusk and dim.

I have followed a lady this night,

Followed her far and lone,

Fox and adder and weasel know

The ways that we have gone.

I sit at my supper 'mid honest faces,

And crumble my crust and say

Naught in the long-drawn drawl of the voices

Talking the hours away.

I'll go to my chamber under the gable,

And the moon will lift her light

In at my lattice from over the moorland

Hollow and still and bright.

And I know she will shine on a lady of witchcraft,

Gladness and grief to see,

Who has taken my heart with her nimble fingers,

Calls in my dreams to me;

Who has led me a dance by dell and dingle

My human soul to win,

Made me a changeling to my own, own mother,

A stranger to my kin.

THE HONEY ROBBERS

There were two Fairies, Gimmul and Mel,

Loved Earth Man's honey passing well;

Oft at the hives of his tame bees

They would their sugary thirst appease.

When dusk began to darken to night,

They would hie along in the fading light,

With elf-locked hair and scarlet lips,

And small stone knives to slit the skeps,

So softly not a bee inside

Should hear the woven straw divide:

And then with sly and greedy thumbs

Would rifle the sweet honeycombs.

And drowsily drone to drone would say,

'A cold, cold wind blows in this way';

And the great Queen would turn her head

From face to face, astonished,

And, though her maids with comb and brush

Would comb and soothe and whisper, 'Hush!'

About the hive would shrilly go

A keening — keening, to and fro;

At which those robbers 'neath the trees

Would taunt and mock the honey-bees,

And through their sticky teeth would buzz

Just as an angry hornet does.

And when this Gimmul and this Mel

Had munched and sucked and swilled their fill,

Or ever Man's first cock could crow

Back to their Faerie Mounds they'd go;

Edging across the twilight air,

Thieves of a guise remotely fair.

LONGLEGS

Longlegs — he yelled 'Coo-ee!'

And all across the combe

Shrill and shrill it rang — rang through

The clear green gloom.

Fairies there were a-spinning,

And a white tree-maid

Lifted her eyes, and listened

In her rain-sweet glade.

Bunnie to bunnie stamped; old Wat

Chin-deep in bracken sate;

A throstle piped, 'I'm by, I'm by!'

Clear to his timid mate.

And there was Longlegs, straddling,

And hearkening was he,

To distant Echo thrilling back

A thin 'Coo-ee!'

MELMILLO

Three and thirty birds there stood

In an elder in a wood;

Called Melmillo — flew off three,

Leaving thirty in the tree;

Called Melmillo — nine now gone,

And the boughs held twenty-one;

Called Melmillo — and eighteen

Left but three to nod and preen;

Called Melmillo — three — two — one

Now of birds were feathers none.

Then stole Melmillo in

To that wood all dusk and green,

And with lean long palms outspread

Softly a strange dance did tread;

Not a note of music she

Had for echoing company;

All the birds were flown to rest

In the hollow of her breast;

In the wood — thorn, elder, willow —

Danced alone — lone danced Melmillo.

EARTH AND AIR

TREES

Of all the trees in England,

Her sweet three corners in,

Only the Ash, the bonnie Ash

Burns fierce while it is green.

Of all the trees in England,

From sea to sea again,

The Willow loveliest stoops her boughs

Beneath the driving rain.

Of all the trees in England,

Past frankincense and myrrh,

There's none for smell, of bloom and smoke,

Like Lime and Juniper.

Of all the trees in England,

Oak, Elder, Elm and Thorn,

The Yew alone burns lamps of peace

For them that lie forlorn.

SILVER

Slowly, silently, now the moon

Walks the night in her silver shoon:

This way, and that, she peers and sees

Silver fruit upon silver trees;

One by one the casements catch

Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;

Couched in his kennel, like a log,

With paws of silver sleeps the dog

From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep

Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;

A harvest mouse goes scampering by,

With silver claws and silver eye;

And moveless fish in the water gleam

By silver reeds in a silver stream.

NOBODY KNOWS

Often I've heard the Wind sigh

By the ivied orchard wall,

Over the leaves in the dark night,

Breathe a sighing call,

And faint away in the silence

While I, in my bed,

Wondered, 'twixt dreaming and waking,

What it said.

Nobody knows what the Wind is,

Under the height of the sky,

Where the hosts of the stars keep far away house

And its wave sweeps by —

Just a great wave of the air,

Tossing the leaves in its sea,

And foaming under the eaves of the roof

That covers me.

And so we live under deep water,

All of us, beasts and men,

And our bodies are buried down under the sand,

When we go again;

And leave, like the fishes, our shells,

And float on the Wind and away,

To where, o'er the marvellous tides of the air,

Burns day.

WANDERERS

Wide are the meadows of night,

And daisies are shining there,

Tossing their lovely dews,

Lustrous and fair;

And through these sweet fields go,

Wanderers amid the stars —

Venus, Mercury, Uranus, Neptune,

Saturn, Jupiter, Mars.

'Tired in their silver, they move,

And circling, whisper and say,

Fair are the blossoming meads of delight

Through which we stray.

MANY A MICKLE

A little sound —-

Only a little, a little —-

The breath in a reed,

A trembling fiddle;

A trumpet's ring,

The shuddering drum;

So all the glory, bravery, hush

Of music come.

A little sound —-

Only a stir and a sigh

Of each green leaf

Its fluttering neighbor by;

Oak on to oak,

The wide dark forest through —-

So o'er the watery wheeling world

The night winds go.

A little sound,

Only a little, a little —-

The thin high drone

Of the simmering kettle,

The gathering frost,

The click of needle and thread;

Mother, the fading wall, the dream,

The drowsy bed.

WILL EVER?

Will he ever be weary of wandering,

The flaming sun?

Ever weary of waning in lovelight,

The white still moon?

Will ever a shepherd come

With a crook of simple gold,

And lead all the little stars

Like lambs to the fold?

Will ever the Wanderer sail

From over the sea,

Up the river of water,

To the stones to me?

Will he take us all into his ship,

Dreaming, and waft us far,

To where in the clouds of the West

The Islands are?

SONGS

THE SONG OF THE SECRET

Where is beauty?

Gone, gone:

The cold winds have taken it

With their faint moan;

The white stars have shaken it,

Trembling down,

Into the pathless deeps of the sea.

Gone, gone

Is beauty from me.

The clear naked flower

Is faded and dead;

The green-leafed willow,

Drooping her head,

Whispers low to the shade

Of her boughs in the stream,

Sighing a beauty,

Secret as dream.

THE SONG OF THE SOLDIERS

As I sat musing by the frozen dyke,

There was a man marching with a bright steel pike,

Marching in the dayshine like a ghost came he,

And behind me was the moaning and the murmur

Of the sea.

As I sat musing, 'twas not one but ten —-

Rank on rank of ghostly soldiers marching o'er the fen,

Marching in the misty air they showed in dreams to me,

And behind me was the shouting and the shattering

of the sea.

As I sat musing, 'twas a host in dark array,

With their horses and their cannon wheeling onward

to the fray,

Moving like a shadow to the fate the brave must dree,

And behind me roared the drums, rang the trumpets

of the sea.

THE BEES' SONG

Thousandz of thornz there be

On the Rozez where gozez

The Zebra of Zee:

Sleek, striped, and hairy,

The steed of the Fairy

Princess of Zee.

Heavy with blossomz be

The Rozez that growzez

In the thickets of Zee.

Where grazez the Zebra,

Marked Abracadeeebra,

Of the Princess of Zee.

And he nozez that poziez

Of the Rozez that grozez

So luvez'm and free,

With an eye, dark and wary,

In search of a Fairy,

Whose Rozez he knowzez

Were not honeyed for he,

But to breathe a sweet incense

To solace the Princess

Of far-away Zee.

SONG OF ENCHANTMENT

A Song of Enchantment I sang me there,

In a green —green wood, by waters fair,

Just as the words came up to me

I sang it under the wildwood tree.

Widdershins turned I, singing it low,

Watching the wild birds come and go;

No cloud in the deep dark blue to be seen

Under the thick-thatched branches green.

Twilight came; silence came;

The planet of Evening's silver flame;

By darkening paths I wandered through

Thickets trembling with drops of dew.

But the music is lost and the words are gone

Of the song I sang as I sat alone,

Ages and ages have fallen on me—

On the wood and the pool and the elder tree.

DREAM SONG

Sunlight, moonlight,

Twilight, starlight-

Gloaming at the close of day,

And an owl calling,

Cool dews falling

In a wood of oak and may.

Lantern-light, taper-light,

Torchlight, no-light:

Darkness at the shut of day,

And lions roaring,

Their wrath pouring

In wild waste places far away.

Elf-light, bat-light,

Touchwood-light and toad-light,

And the sea a shimmering gloom of grey,

And a small face smiling

In a dream's beguiling

In a world of wonders far away.

THE SONG OF SHADOWS

Sweep thy faint Strings, Musician,

With thy long lean hand;

Downward the starry tapers burn,

Sinks soft the waning sand;

The old hound whimpers couched in sleep,

The embers smoulder low;

Across the walls the shadows

Come, and go.

Sweep softly thy strings, Musician,

The minutes mount to hours;

Frost on the windless casement weaves

A labyrinth of flowers;

Ghosts linger in the darkening air,

Hearken at the open door;

Music hath called them, dreaming,

Home once more.

THE SONG OF THE MAD PRINCE

Who said, 'Peacock Pie?'

The old King to the sparrow:

Who said, 'Crops are ripe?'

Rust to the harrow:

Who said, 'Where sleeps she now?'

Where rests she now her head,

Bathed in eve's loveliness'? —-

That's what I said.

Who said, 'Ay, mum's the word'?

Sexton to willow:

Who said, 'Green duck for dreams,

Moss for a pillow'?

Who said, 'All Time's delight

Hath she for narrow bed;

Life's troubled bubble broken'? —-

That's what I said.

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.

End of Project Gutenberg's Peacock Pie, A Book of Rhymes, by Walter de la Mare

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Table of Contents

PEACOCK PIE

Table of Contents

THE HORSEMAN

UP AND DOWN

MRS. EARTH

ALAS, ALACK!

TIRED TIM

MIMA

THE HUNTSMEN

THE BANDOG

I CAN'T ABEAR

THE DUNCE

CHICKEN

SOME ONE

BREAD AND CHERRIES

OLD SHELLOVER

HAPLESS

THE LITTLE BIRD

CAKE AND SACK

THE SHIP OF RIO

TILLIE

JIM JAY

MISS T.

THE CUPBOARD

THE BARBER'S

HIDE AND SEEK

BOYS AND GIRLS

THE WINDOW

POOR HENRY

FULL MOON

THE BOOKWORM

THE QUARTETTE

MISTLETOE

THE LOST SHOE

THE TRUANTS

THREE QUEER TALES BERRIES

OFF THE GROUND

THE THIEF AT ROBIN'S CASTLE

PLACES AND PEOPLE A WIDOW'S WEEDS

'SOOEEP!'

MRS. MACQUEEN (OR THE LOLLIE-SHOP)

THE LITTLE GREEN ORCHARD

POOR 'MISS 7'

SAM

ANDY BATTLE

THE OLD SOLDIER

THE PICTURE

THE LITTLE OLD CUPID

KING DAVID

THE OLD HOUSE

BEASTS

ALL BUT BLIND

NICHOLAS NYE

THE PIGS AND THE CHARCOAL - BURNER

FIVE EYES

GRIM

TIT FOR TAT

SUMMER EVENING

EARTH FOLK

WITCHES AND FAIRIES AT THE KEYHOLE

THE RIDE-BY-NIGHTS

PEAK AND PUKE

THE CHANGELING

THE MOCKING FAIRY

BEWITCHED

THE HONEY ROBBERS

LONGLEGS

MELMILLO

EARTH AND AIR TREES

SILVER

NOBODY KNOWS

WANDERERS

WILL EVER?

SONGS THE SONG OF THE SECRET

THE SONG OF THE SOLDIERS

THE BEES' SONG

SONG OF ENCHANTMENT

DREAM SONG

THE SONG OF SHADOWS

THE SONG OF THE MAD PRINCE

THE SONG OF FINIS

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