Quote

But beauty vanishes beauty passes However rare rare it be And when I crumble, who will remember This lady of the West Country?

Walter de La Mare

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Walter de La Mare
Age: 83 †
Born: 1873
Born: April 25
Died: 1956
Died: June 22
Novelist
Poet
Prosaist
Writer
Charlton
London
Walter Ramal
Walter John de la Mare
Rare
West
However
Beauty
Remember
Vanishes
Country
Crumble
Passes
Lady

More quotes by Walter de La Mare

Image
It was a pity thoughts always ran the easiest way, like water in old ditches.
Walter de La Mare
Image
Dobbin at manger pulls his hay: Gone is another summer's day.
Walter de La Mare
Image
When I lie where shades of darkness Shall no more assail mine eyes.
Walter de La Mare
Image
The only catalogue of this world's goods that really counts is that which we keep in the silence of the mind.
Walter de La Mare
Image
The sandy cat by the Farmer's chair Mews at his knee for dainty fare Old Rover in his moss-greened house Mumbles a bone, and barks at a mouse. In the dewy fields the cattle lie Chewing the cud 'neath a fading sky Dobbin at manger pulls his hay: Gone is another summer's day.
Walter de La Mare
Image
Hi! handsome hunting man Fire your little gun. Bang! Now the animal is dead and dumb and done. Nevermore to peep again, creep again, leap again, Eat or sleep or drink again. Oh, what fun!
Walter de La Mare
Image
Once a man strays out of the common herd, he's more likely to meet wolves in the thickets than angels.
Walter de La Mare
Image
His are the quiet steeps of dreamland, The waters of no-more-pain His ram's bell rings 'neath an arch of stars, Rest, rest, and rest again.
Walter de La Mare
Image
As long as I live I shall always be My Self - and no other, Just me.
Walter de La Mare
Image
Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves back the rose.
Walter de La Mare
Image
All but blind In his chambered hole Gropes for worms The four-clawed Mole.
Walter de La Mare
Image
Oh, pity the poor glutton Whose troubles all begin In struggling on and on to turn What's out into what's in.
Walter de La Mare
Image
Very old are the woods And the buds that break Out of the brier's boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are-- Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves back the rose.
Walter de La Mare
Image
After all, what is every man? A horde of ghosts - like a Chinese nest of boxes - oaks that were acorns that were oaks. Death lies behind us, not in front - in our ancestors, back and back until.
Walter de La Mare
Image
Without imagination of the one kind or of the other, mortal existence is indeed a dreary and prosaic business... Illumined by the imagination, our life, whatever its defeats - is a never-ending unforeseen strangeness and adventure and mystery.
Walter de La Mare
Image
A face peered. All the grey night In chaos of vacancy shone Nought but vast Sorrow was there The sweet cheat gone.
Walter de La Mare
Image
What a haunting, inescapable riddle life was.
Walter de La Mare
Image
Now that cleverness was the fashion most people were clever - even perfect fools and cleverness after all was often only a bore: all head and no body
Walter de La Mare
Image
Too late for fruit, too soon for flowers.
Walter de La Mare
Image
We wake and whisper awhile, But, the day gone by, Silence and sleep like fields Of amaranth lie.
Walter de La Mare