Walter de la Mare

(1873 - 1958 / Kent / England)

Walter de la Mare Poems

81. Alone 1/3/2003
82. Tartary 1/1/2004
83. A Song Of Enchantment 1/3/2003
84. The Ghost 1/3/2003
85. Snow 1/3/2003
86. All That's Past 1/3/2003
87. An Epitaph 1/3/2003
88. Nicholas Nye 1/3/2003
89. Arabia 1/3/2003
90. Music 1/3/2003
91. Some One 1/1/2004
92. Silver 1/3/2003
93. The Listeners 1/3/2003

Comments about Walter de la Mare

  • Priyantha Guawardena (12/8/2013 8:49:00 AM)

    help me get the real idea of some one poem -priyantha

    32 person liked.
    35 person did not like.
  • Priyantha Guawardena (12/8/2013 8:48:00 AM)

    what is the fully meaning of some one

  • Thaar Ali (2/2/2012 1:21:00 PM)

    he is agoodman and he is the best

  • Sylva Portoian Sylva Portoian (2/26/2010 7:17:00 AM)

    I can't -at all -f ancy him
    He writes like an eight-year old child.
    He became famous because of his dad,
    What a lucky-guy he is!
    A large platinum -spoon
    Pushed in his mouth.

  • Haroon Mustafa (3/17/2007 7:22:00 AM)

    he is the master of creating imagery.he wants us to enjoy his world of imagination

  • Koko Krisp (3/24/2005 5:20:00 PM)

    he cool! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Best Poem of Walter de la Mare

The Listeners

"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grass
Of the forest's ferny floor;
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of ...

Read the full of The Listeners

Sunk Lyonesse

In sea-cold Lyonesse,
When the Sabbath eve shafts down
On the roofs, walls, belfries
Of the foundered town,
The Nereids pluck their lyres
Where the green translucency beats,
And with motionless eyes at gaze
Make ministrely in the streets.

[Report Error]