When music sounds, gone is the earth I know, And all her lovelier things even lovelier grow; Her flowers in vision flame, her forest trees Lift burdened branches, stilled with ecstasies. When music sounds, out of the water rise Naiads… — Walter de La Mare Copy Share Image
“In these days of faith-cures, and hypnotism, and telepathy, and subliminalities – why, the simple old world grows very confusing. But rarely, very rarely novel.” — Walter de la Mare Copy Share
“When indeed you positively press your face, so to speak, against the crystalline window of your eyes, your mind is apt to become a… — Walter de la Mare Copy Share
What is the world, O soldiers? It is I, I, this incessant snow, This northern sky. — Walter de La Mare Copy Share
“Away There is no sorrow Time heals never; No loss, betrayal, Beyond repair. Balm for the soul, then, Though grave shall sever Lover from… — Walter de la Mare Copy Share
“Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door.” — Walter de la Mare Copy Share
“Lawford had soundlessly stolen a pace or two nearer, and by stopping forward he could, each in turn, scrutinize the little intent company sitting… — Walter de la Mare Copy Share
For beauty with sorrow Is a burden hard to be borne: The evening light on the foam, and the swans, there; That music, remote,… — Walter de La Mare Copy Share
We wake and whisper awhile, But, the day gone by, Silence and sleep like fields Of amaranth lie. — Walter de La Mare Copy Share
“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… — Walter de la Mare Copy Share
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 Copy Share
“It is very seldom that one encounters what would appear to be sheer unadulterated evil in a human face; an evil, I mean, active,… — Walter de la Mare Copy Share
It was a pity thoughts always ran the easiest way, like water in old ditches. — Walter de La Mare Copy Share
All but blind In his chambered hole Gropes for worms The four-clawed Mole. — Walter de La Mare Copy Share
