Walter de la Mare
Author profile
born
April 25, 1873
in Charlton, Greenwich, London, England, The United Kingdom
died
June 22, 1956
gender
male
genre
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Memoirs of a Midget
by Walter de la Mare, Alison Lurie — published 1922 — 27 editions |
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The Return
by Walter de la Mare, S.T. Joshi — published 1910 — 32 editions |
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Short Stories 1927 1956 (V. 2)
— published 2000 |
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Come Hither: A Family Treasury of Best-Loved Rhymes and Poems for Children
— published 1923 — 5 editions |
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The Complete Poems Of Walter De La Mare
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Peacock Pie
— published 1913 — 24 editions |
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The Collected Poems of Walter de La Mare
— published 1944 — 2 editions |
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The Turnip
by Walter de la Mare, Kevin Hawkes — 4 editions |
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Best Stories of Walter De La Mare
— published 1983 |
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Strangers and Pilgrims
— published 2007 |
“Once a man strays out of the common herd, he's more likely to meet wolves in the thickets than angels.”
― Walter de la Mare, The Return
― Walter de la Mare, The Return
“Lear, Macbeth. Mercutio – they live on their own as it were. The newspapers are full of them, if we were only the Shakespeares to see it. Have you ever been in a Police Court? Have you ever watched tradesmen behind their counters? My soul, the secrets walking in the streets! You jostle them at every corner. There's a Polonius in every first-class railway carriage, and as many Juliets as there are boarding-schools. ... How inexhaustibly rich everything is, if you only stick to life.”
― Walter de la Mare, The Return
― Walter de la Mare, The Return
“His brow is seamed with line and scar;
His cheek is red and dark as wine;
The fires as of a Northern star
Beneath his cap of sable shine.
His right hand, bared of leathern glove,
Hangs open like an iron gin,
You stoop to see his pulses move,
To hear the blood sweep out and in.
He looks some king, so solitary
In earnest thought he seems to stand,
As if across a lonely sea
He gazed impatient of the land.
Out of the noisy centuries
The foolish and the fearful fade;
Yet burn unquenched these warrior eyes,
Time hath not dimmed, nor death dismayed.”
― Walter de la Mare
His cheek is red and dark as wine;
The fires as of a Northern star
Beneath his cap of sable shine.
His right hand, bared of leathern glove,
Hangs open like an iron gin,
You stoop to see his pulses move,
To hear the blood sweep out and in.
He looks some king, so solitary
In earnest thought he seems to stand,
As if across a lonely sea
He gazed impatient of the land.
Out of the noisy centuries
The foolish and the fearful fade;
Yet burn unquenched these warrior eyes,
Time hath not dimmed, nor death dismayed.”
― Walter de la Mare
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