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"Long -- long is Time, though books be brief: Adventures strange -- ay, past belief -- Await the Reader's drowsy eye; But, wearied out, he'd lay them by. "But, if so be he'd some day hear All that befell these brothers dear In Tishnar's lovely Valleys -- well, Poor pen, thou must that story tell "But farewell, now, you Mulgars three Farewell, your faithful company Farewell, the heart that loved unbidden -- Nod's dark-eyed, beauteous Water-midden " If you know Walter De La Mare's work, you probably know him as an important literary novelist and poet in the early twentieth century. But he...

The Truants Ere my heart beats too coldly and faintly To remember sad things, yet be gay, I would sing a brief song of the world's little children Magic hath stolen away. The primroses scattered by April, The stars of the wide Milky Way, Cannot outnumber the hosts of the children Magic hath stolen away. The buttercup green of the meadows, The snow of the blossoming may, Lovelier are not than the legions of children Magic hath stolen away. The waves tossing surf in the moonbeam, The albatross lone on the spray, Alone know the tears wept in vain for the children Magic hath stolen away. In...

"One of the strangest and most enchanting works of fiction ever written."--Alison Lurie

Miss M., a pretty young woman with a passion for shells, fossils, flints, butterflies, and stuffed animals, remains isolated from the rest of society due to her diminutive size. Forced to make her own way in the world after the death of her father, she finds herself treated as little more than an entertaining curiosity.

Walter de la Mare (1873-1956) was one of the leading poets and novelists of the twentieth century. First published in 1921, Memoirs of a Midget won the James...

De la Mare described two distinct "types" of imagination - although "aspects" might be a better term: the childlike and the boylike. It was at the border between the two that Shakespeare, Dante, and the rest of the great poets lay. And so we let him have his say -- The Truants Ere my heart beats too coldly and faintly To remember sad things, yet be gay, I would sing a brief song of the world's little children Magic hath stolen away. The primroses scattered by April, the stars of the wide Milky Way, cannot outnumber the hosts of the children Magic hath stolen away. The buttercup green of...