Who is Walter De La Mare

Walter John de la Mare (; 25 April 1873 – 22 June 1956) was an English poet, short story writer, and novelist. He is probably best remembered for his works for children, for his poem "The Listeners", and for a highly acclaimed selection of subtle psychological horror stories, amongst them "Seaton's Aunt" and "All Hallows".

In 1921, his novel Memoirs of a Midget won the James Tait Black Memorial Prize for fiction, and his post-war Collected Stories for Children won the 1947 Carnegie Medal for British children's books.


De la Mare was born in Kent at 83, Maryon Road, Charlton (now part of the Royal Borough of Greenwich), partly descended from a family of French Huguenot silk merchants, and was educated at St Paul's Cathedral School. He was born to Ja...
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Walter De La Mare Poems

  • The Corner Stone
    Sterile these stones
    By time in ruin laid.
    Yet many a creeping thing
    Its haven has made...
  • The Keys Of Morning
    While at her bedroom window once,
    Learning her task for school,
    Little Louisa lonely sat
    In the morning clear and cool,...
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Top 10 most used topics by Walter De La Mare

Dust 2 Cold 2 Shadow 2 Small 1 Busy 1 Morning 1 Street 1 Door 1 Mind 1 Face 1

Walter De La Mare Quotes

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Comments about Walter De La Mare

Chris_buchholz: slowly, silently, now the moon walks the night in her silver shoon; this way, and that, she peers, and sees silver fruit upon silver trees; walter de la mare
Telos32: bbc radio 4 extra - walter de la mare - memoirs of a midget, 1. miss m
Neosokwaliwa: "wafts her on plumes like mist" - walter de la mare
Stella_omega: i came across these two in about 6th grade, but "obstinate uncle otis" by robert arthur was one of those, and the hallucinatory "maria-fly" by walter de la mare. you can read "uncle otis" here:
Winterdamonbot: "why are you named winter?" "it’s a poem by walter de la mare," i tell him, but he’s probably not interested in hearing it. "my mom said the poem made a cold and bitter season seem pretty. you just have to look closer." he just stares out beyond the railing, looking thoughtful.
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Poem of the day

Emily Dickinson Poem
The Sunset stopped on Cottages
 by Emily Dickinson


The Sunset stopped on Cottages
Where Sunset hence must be
For treason not of His, but Life's,
Gone Westerly, Today-

The Sunset stopped on Cottages

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