Search

Search results

Walter de la Mare, moon, in English Clear filters

ContemplativeWalter de la Mare

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.
ContemplativeWalter de la Mare

The Bindweed

The bindweed roots pierce down Deeper than men do lie, Laid in their dark-shut graves Their slumbering kinsmen by. Yet what frail thin-spun flowers She casts into the air, To breathe the sunshine, and To leave her fragrance there. But when the sweet moon comes, Showering her silver down, Half-wreathèd in faint sleep, They droop where they have blown. So all the grass is set, Beneath her trembling ray, With buds that have been flowers, Brimmed with reflected day.
ContemplativeWalter de la Mare

For All the Grief

For all the grief I have given with words May now a few clear flowers blow, In the dust, and the heat, and the silence of birds, Where the lonely go. For the thing unsaid that heart asked of me Be a dark, cool water calling--calling To the footsore, benighted, solitary, When the shadows are falling. O, be beauty for all my blindness, A moon in the air where the weary wend, And dews burdened with loving-kindness In the dark of the end.
DreamyWalter de la Mare

Moonlight

The far moon maketh lovers wise In her pale beauty trembling down, Lending curved cheeks, dark lips, dark eyes, A strangeness not their own. And, though they shut their lids to kiss, In starless darkness peace to win, Even on that secret world from this Her twilight enters in.
SadWalter de la Mare

April Moon

Roses are sweet to smell and see, And lilies on the stem; But rarer, stranger buds there be, And she was like to them. The little moon that April brings, More lovely shade than light, That, setting, silvers lonely hills Upon the verge of night-- Close to the world of my poor heart So stole she, still and clear; Now that she's gone, O dark, and dark, The solitude--the fear.
AnxiousWalter de la Mare

The Empty House

See this house, how dark it is Beneath its vast-boughed trees! Not one trembling leaflet cries To that Watcher in the skies-- 'Remove, remove thy searching gaze, Innocent, of heaven's ways, Brood not, Moon, so wildly bright, On secrets hidden from sight.' 'Secrets,' sighs the night-wind, 'Vacancy is all I find; Every keyhole I have made Wail a summons, faint and sad, No voice ever answers me, Only vacancy.' 'Once, once...' the cricket shrills, And far and near the quiet fills

Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem

Or try: