I have recently discovered an old poetry book that my mother read. It is full of treasure. It does seem to me however that the mood was often rather fatalistic about the world, war and death. Many looked to the moon for inspiration which may have seemed to be the one constant that they could rely on. I would like to share one such from Walter de la Mare – Silver
Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks in the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.
Not perhaps one of his most profound but I like it as it is full of the imagery of night.
Very best wishes – Denny Bradbury – Green Poet
