Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier's boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are-- Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves back the rose. — 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 Image
“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 Image
What is the world, O soldiers? It is I, I, this incessant snow, This northern sky. — Walter de La Mare Copy Share Image
“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 Image
“Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door.” — Walter de la Mare Copy Share Image
As long as I live I shall always be My Self - and no other, Just me. — Walter de La Mare Copy Share Image
“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 Image
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 Image
We wake and whisper awhile, But, the day gone by, Silence and sleep like fields Of amaranth lie. — Walter de La Mare Copy Share Image
“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 Image
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 Image
