The Old King

The Old King written by Walter de la Mare

Down-Adown-Derry: A Book of Fairy Poems (1922)

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Woke -- the old King of Cumberland:
Yet breathed not nor stirred,
But crouched in the darkness, hearkening after
A voice he had heard.

He leaned upon his foursquare bed,
Thumb beneath bristling chin;
'Alas, alas! -- the woeful dream --
The dream that I was in!'

The old, old King of Cumberland
Muttered, "'Twas not the sea
Gushing upon Schlievlisskin rocks
That wakened me.

"Thunder from midmost night it was not,
For yonder at those bars
Burn fiercely toward the Eastern deeps
The summer stars."

The old, old King of Cumberland
Mused yet, "Rats ever did
Ramp, rustle, clink my spurs, and gnaw
My coverlid.

"Oft hath a furtive midnight breeze
Along this valance skirred;
But in this stagnant calm 'twas not
The wind I heard.

"Some keener, stranger, quieter, closer
Voice it was me woke ..."
And silence, like a billow, drowned
The word he spoke.

Fixed now his stare, for limned in dark,
Gazing from cowl-like hood,
Stark in the vague, all-listening night,
A shadow stood.

Sudden a gigantic hand he thrust
Into his bosom cold,
Where now no surging restless beat
Its long tale told.

Swept on him then, as there he sate,
Terror icy chill:
'Twas silence that had him awoke --
His heart stood still.

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