Poems by Walter De La Mare


04 – Tired Tim

Poor Tired Tim! It’s sad for him.
He lags the long bright morning through,
Ever so tired of nothing to do;
He moons and mopes the livelong day,
Nothing to think about, nothing to say;
Up to bed with his candle to creep,
Too tired to yawn, too tired to sleep:
Poor Tired Tim! It’s sad for him.

05 – I Can’t Abear

I can’t abear a Butcher,
I can’t abide his meat,
The ugliest shop of all is his,
The ugliest in the street;
Bakers are warm, cobblers dark,
Chemists burn watery lights;
But oh, the sawdust butcher’s shop,
That ugliest of sights!

06 – Some One

Some one came knocking
At my wee, small door;
Some one came knocking,
I’m sure – sure – sure;
I listened, I opened,
I looked to left and right,
But naught there was a-stirring
In the still dark night;
Only the busy beetle
Tap-tapping in the wall,
Only from the forest
The screech-owl’s call,
Only the cricket whistling
While the dewdrops fall,
So I know not who came knocking,
At all, at all, at all.

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