The Ride-by-Nights

by Walter de la Mare (1873-1956)

Up on their brooms the Witches stream,

Crooked and black in the crescent’s gleam;

One foot high, and one foot low,

Bearded, cloaked, and cowled, they go.

‘Neath Charlie’s Wain they twitter and tweet,

And away they swarm ‘neath the Dragon’s feet.

With a whoop and a flutter they swing and sway,

And surge pell-mell down the Milky-Way.

Betwixt the legs of the glittering Chair

They hover and squeak in the empty air.

Then round they swoop past the glimmering Lion

To where Sirius barks behind huge Orion;

Up, then, and over to wheel amain,

Under the silver, and home again.

Old Shellover

by Walter de la Mare (1873-1956)

“Come!” said Old Shellover.

“What?” says Creep.

“The horny old Gardener’s fast asleep;

The fat cock Thrush

To his nest has gone,

And the dew shines bright

In the rising Moon;

Old Sallie Worm from her hole doth peep;

Come!” said Old Shellover

“Ay!” said Creep.

How large unto the tiny fly (Walter de la Mare)

How large unto the tiny fly
Must little things appear! –
A rosebud like a feather bed,
Its prickle like a spear;

A dewdrop like a looking glass,
A hair like golden wire;
The smallest grain of mustard-seed
As fierce as coals of fire;

A loaf of bread, a lofty hill;
A wasp, a cruel leopard;
And specks of salt as bright to see
As lambkins to a shepherd.