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                           THE SUNKEN GARDEN

    This is the second book issued by the Beaumont Press 20 copies have been
    printed on Japanese vellum signed by the author and numbered 1 to 20 and
    250 copies on hand-made paper numbered 21 to 270. This is No. 200.




                              THE SUNKEN
                                GARDEN

                          AND OTHER POEMS BY
                           WALTER DE LA MARE




                               CONTENTS


                                                                    Page

THE LITTLE SALAMANDER
When I go free,                                                        9

THE SUNKEN GARDEN
Speak not--whisper not;                                               10

THE RIDDLERS
‘Thou Solitary!’ the Blackbird cried,                                 11

MRS. GRUNDY
‘Step very softly, sweet Quiet-foot,                                  13

THE DARK HOUSE
See this house, how dark it is                                        15

MISTRESS FELL
‘Whom seek you here, sweet Mistress Fell?’                            16

THE STRANGER
In the woods as I did walk,                                           18

THE FLIGHT
How do the days press on, and lay                                     19

THE REMONSTRANCE
I was at peace until you came                                         20

THE EXILE
I am that Adam who, with Snake for guest,                             21

EYES
O Strange Devices that alone divide                                   22

THE TRYST
Why in my heart, O grief,                                             23

THE OLD MEN
Old and alone, sit we,                                                25

THE FOOL’S SONG
Never, no, never, listen too long,                                    26

THE DREAMER
O Thou who giving helm and sword,                                     27

MOTLEY
Come, Death, I’d have a word with thee;                               28

TO E. T.: 1917.
You sleep too well--too far away,                                     31

ALEXANDER
It was the great Alexander,                                           32

FOR ALL THE GRIEF
For all the grief I have given with words                             34

FAREWELL
When I lie where shades of darkness                                   35

CLEAR EYES
Clear eyes do dim at last,                                            36

MUSIC
When Music sounds, gone is the earth I know,                          37

IN A CHURCHYARD
As children bidden to go to bed                                       38

TWO HOUSES
In the strange city of life                                           39

COLOPHON                                                              40




     THE LITTLE SALAMANDER: TO MARGOT


    When I go free,
    I think ’twill be
    A night of stars and snow,
    And the wild fires of frost shall light
    My footsteps as I go;
    Nobody--nobody will be there
    With groping touch, or sight,
    To see me in my bush of hair
    Dance burning through the night.




     THE SUNKEN GARDEN


    Speak not--whisper not;
    Here bloweth thyme and bergamot;
    Softly on the evening hour,
    Secret herbs their spices shower,
    Dark-spiked rosemary and myrrh,
    Lean-stalked, purple lavender;
    Hides within her bosom, too,
    All her sorrows, bitter rue.

    Breathe not--trespass not;
    Of this green and darkling spot,
    Latticed from the moon’s beams,
    Perchance a distant dreamer dreams;
    Perchance upon its darkening air,
    The unseen ghosts of children fare,
    Faintly swinging, sway and sweep,
    Like lovely sea-flowers in its deep;
    While, unmoved, to watch and ward,
    ’Mid its gloom’d and daisied sward,
    Stands with bowed and dewy head
    That one little leaden Lad.




     THE RIDDLERS


    ‘Thou solitary!’ the Blackbird cried,
    ‘I, from the happy Wren,
    Linnet and Blackcap, Woodlark, Thrush,
    Perched all upon a sweetbrier bush,
    Have come at cold of midnight-tide
    To ask thee, Why and when
    Grief smote thy heart so thou dost sing
    In solemn hush of evening,
    So sorrowfully, lovelorn Thing--
    Nay, nay, not sing, but rave, but wail,
    Most melancholic Nightingale?
    Do not the dews of darkness steep
    All pinings of the day in sleep?
    Why, then, when rocked in starry nest
    We mutely couch, secure, at rest,
    Doth thy lone heart delight to make
    Music for sorrow’s sake?’

    A Moon was there. So still her beam,
    It seemed the whole world lay a-dream,
    Lulled by the watery sea.
    And from her leafy night-hung nook
    Upon this stranger soft did look
    The Nightingale: sighed he:--

    ‘’Tis strange, my friend; the Kingfisher
    But yestermorn conjured me here
    Out of his green and gold to say
    Why thou, in splendour of the noon
    Wearest of colour but golden shoon.
    And else dost thee array
    In a most sombre suit of black?
    “Surely,” he sighed, “some load of grief,
    Past all our thinking--and belief--
    Must weigh upon his back!”
    Do, then, in turn, tell me,--If joy
    Thy heart as well as voice employ,
    Why dost thou now, most Sable, shine
    In plumage woefuller far than mine?
    Thy silence is a sadder thing
    Than any dirge I sing!’

    Thus then these two small birds, perched there,
    Breathed a strange riddle both did share
    Yet neither could expound.
    And we--who sing but as we can,
    In the small knowledge of a man--
    Have we an answer found?
    Nay, some are happy whose delight
    Is hid even from themselves from sight;
    And some win peace who spend
    The skill of words to sweeten despair
    Of finding consolation where
    Life has but one dark end;
    Who, in rapt solitude, tell o’er
    A tale as lovely as forlore
    Into the midnight air.




     MRS. GRUNDY


    ‘Step very softly, sweet Quiet-foot,
    Stumble not, whisper not, smile not:
    By this dark ivy stoop cheek and brow.
    Still even thy heart! What seest thou?’

    ‘High coifed, broad-browed, aged, suave yet grim,
    A large flat face, eyes keenly dim,
    Staring at nothing--that’s me!--and yet,
    With a hate one could never, no, never forget....’

    ‘This is my world, my garden, my home,
    Hither my father bade mother to come
    And bear me out of the dark into light,
    And happy I was in her tender sight.

    ‘And then, thou frail flower, she died and went,
    Forgetting my pitiless banishment,
    And that Old Woman--an Aunt--she said,
    Came hither, lodged, fattened, and made her bed.

    ‘Oh yes, thou most blessed, from Monday to Sunday
    Has lived on me, preyed on me, Mrs. Grundy:
    Called me, “dear Nephew”; on each of those chairs
    Has gloated in righteousness, heard my prayers.

    ‘Why didst thou dare the thorns of the grove,
    Timidest trespasser, huntress of love?
    Now thou has peeped, and now dost know
    What kind of creature is thine for foe.

    ‘Not that she’ll tear out thy innocent eyes,
    Poison thy mouth with deviltries.
    Watch thou, wait thou: soon will begin
    The guile of a voice: hark!... “Come in, Come in!”’




     THE DARK 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
    With its tiny voice, and then
            Hush falls again.

    Mute shadows creeping slow
    Mark how the hours go,
    Every stone is mouldering slow,
    And the least winds that blow
    Some minutest atom shake,
    Some fretting ruin make
    In roof and walls. How black it is
    Beneath these thick-boughed trees!




     MISTRESS FELL


    ‘Whom seek you here, sweet Mistress Fell?’
    ‘One who loved me passing well.
    Dark his eye, wild his face--
    Stranger, if in this lonely place
    Bide such an