IN A CHURCHYARDAS children bidden to go to bedPuff out their candle’s light,Since that the natural dark is bestFor them to take their flightInto the realm of sleep: so weGod’s bidding did obey;Not without fear our tired eyes shut,And wait—and wait—the day.
IN A CHURCHYARDAS children bidden to go to bedPuff out their candle’s light,Since that the natural dark is bestFor them to take their flightInto the realm of sleep: so weGod’s bidding did obey;Not without fear our tired eyes shut,And wait—and wait—the day.
IN A CHURCHYARDAS children bidden to go to bedPuff out their candle’s light,Since that the natural dark is bestFor them to take their flight
Into the realm of sleep: so weGod’s bidding did obey;Not without fear our tired eyes shut,And wait—and wait—the day.
TWO HOUSESIN THE STRANGE CITY OF LIFETwo houses I know well:One wherein Silence a garden hath,And one where Dark doth dwell.Roof unto roof they stand,Shadowing the dizzied street,Where Vanity flaunts her gilded boothsIn the noontide glare and heat.Green-graped upon their wallsThe ancient, hoary vineHath clustered their carven lichenous stonesWith tendril serpentine.And ever and anon,Dazed in that clamorous throng,I thirst for the soundless fount that stillsThose orchards mute of song.Knock, knock! nor knock in vain.Heart, all thy secrets tellWhere Silence a fast-sealed garden hathWhere Dark doth dwell.
TWO HOUSESIN THE STRANGE CITY OF LIFETwo houses I know well:One wherein Silence a garden hath,And one where Dark doth dwell.Roof unto roof they stand,Shadowing the dizzied street,Where Vanity flaunts her gilded boothsIn the noontide glare and heat.Green-graped upon their wallsThe ancient, hoary vineHath clustered their carven lichenous stonesWith tendril serpentine.And ever and anon,Dazed in that clamorous throng,I thirst for the soundless fount that stillsThose orchards mute of song.Knock, knock! nor knock in vain.Heart, all thy secrets tellWhere Silence a fast-sealed garden hathWhere Dark doth dwell.
TWO HOUSESIN THE STRANGE CITY OF LIFETwo houses I know well:One wherein Silence a garden hath,And one where Dark doth dwell.
Roof unto roof they stand,Shadowing the dizzied street,Where Vanity flaunts her gilded boothsIn the noontide glare and heat.
Green-graped upon their wallsThe ancient, hoary vineHath clustered their carven lichenous stonesWith tendril serpentine.
And ever and anon,Dazed in that clamorous throng,I thirst for the soundless fount that stillsThose orchards mute of song.
Knock, knock! nor knock in vain.Heart, all thy secrets tellWhere Silence a fast-sealed garden hathWhere Dark doth dwell.
HERE ENDS THE SUNKEN GARDEN ANDOther Poems by Walter De La Mare the Typographyand Binding arranged by Cyril William BeaumontPrinted on his Press in London and Publishedby him at 75 Charing Cross Road in theCity of Westminster Completedon the first day of DecemberMDCCCCXVIIThe Binding has beenexecuted by F. Sangorski and G. Sutcliffe
[image of the back cover not available]