WALTER DE LA MARE
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake: A/, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone, And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
��Fare Well
I lie where shades of darkness Shall no more asbail mine eyes, Nor the rain make lamentation
When the wind sighs, How will fare the world whose wonder Was the very proof of me? Memory fades, must the remembered Perishing be?
Oh, when this my dust surrenders Hand, foot, lip, to dust again, May these loved and loving faces
Please other men' May the rusting harvest hedgerow Still the Traveller's Joy entwine, And as happy children gather
Posies once mine.
Look thy last on all things lovely,
Every hour. Let no night
Seal thy sense in deathly slumber
Till to delight
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