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So, blind to Someone I must be.

Walter de La Mare

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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
Blind
Someone
Must

More quotes by Walter de La Mare

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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
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When I lie where shades of darkness Shall no more assail mine eyes.
Walter de La Mare
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Too late for fruit, too soon for flowers.
Walter de La Mare
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Three jolly huntsmen, In coats of red, Rode their horses Up to bed.
Walter de La Mare
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As soon as they're out of your sight, you are out of their mind.
Walter de La Mare
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And some win peace who spend The skill of words to sweeten despair Of finding consolation where Life has but one dark end.
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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
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We wake and whisper awhile, But, the day gone by, Silence and sleep like fields Of amaranth lie.
Walter de La Mare
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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
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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
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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
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Slowly, silently, now the moon Walks the night in her silver shoon.
Walter de La Mare
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All day long the door of the sub-conscious remains just ajar we slip through to the other side, and return again, as easily and secretly as a cat.
Walter de La Mare
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What lovely things Thy hand hath made.
Walter de La Mare
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He got out of bed and peeped through the blinds. To the east and opposite to him gardens and an apple-orchard lay, and there in strange liquid tranquility hung the morning star, and rose, rilling into the dusk of night the first grey of dawn. The street beneath its autumn leaves was vacant, charmed, deserted.
Walter de La Mare
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God has mercifully ordered that the human brain works slowly first the blow, hours afterwards the bruise.
Walter de La Mare
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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
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Poor tired Tim! It's sad for him He lags the long bright morning through, Ever so tired of nothing to do.
Walter de La Mare
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An hour's terror is better than a lifetime of timidity.
Walter de La Mare
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Look thy last on all things lovely, Every hour
Walter de La Mare