![\"THE](\"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/10\/A-moonlit-isolated-house-in-a-forest-clearing-jpg.webp\")
<\/h2>\n<\/h2>\nby <\/span>Walter De La Mare<\/span><\/p>\n ‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller, Walter de la Mare, born in 1873 in Kent, England, began his career as a bookkeeper before transitioning to writing full-time. He gained recognition for his imaginative poetry and prose, which often blended reality with fantasy, creating dreamlike atmospheres filled with supernatural elements. De la Mare’s work, characterized by its lyrical quality and vivid imagery, explored themes of childhood, dreams, and the subconscious. His most famous poems include “The Listeners” and “Silver,” while his novel “Memoirs of a Midget” won the James Tait Black Memorial Prize. Throughout his career, de la Mare published numerous poetry collections, novels, and children’s books, earning accolades such as the Companion of Honour and the Carnegie Medal. Influenced by Romantic poets and drawing heavily on folklore and fairy tales, his writing style left a lasting impact on 20th-century children’s literature and fantasy writing. De la Mare’s ability to evoke a sense of mystery and wonder in his works continues to influence writers in the fantasy and supernatural genres to this day. He passed away in 1956, leaving behind a rich literary legacy that continues to captivate readers with its exploration of the imagination and the unconscious mind.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Walter de la Mare, born in 1873 in Kent, England, began his career as a bookkeeper before transitioning to writing full-time<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":66086,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[657,418,469],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-66085","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-classic-poets","category-halloween-poems","category-horror-poem"],"aioseo_notices":[],"amp_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/66085","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=66085"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/66085\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/66086"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=66085"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=66085"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=66085"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nKnocking on the moonlit door;
\nAnd his horse in the silence champed the grasses
\nOf the forest’s ferny floor:
\nAnd a bird flew up out of the turret,
\nAbove the Traveller’s head:
\nAnd he smote upon the door again a second time;
\n‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
\nBut no one descended to the Traveller;
\nNo head from the leaf-fringed sill
\nLeaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
\nWhere he stood perplexed and still.
\nBut only a host of phantom listeners
\nThat dwelt in the lone house then
\nStood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
\nTo that voice from the world of men:
\nStood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
\nThat goes down to the empty hall,
\nHearkening in an air stirred and shaken
\nBy the lonely Traveller’s call.
\nAnd he felt in his heart their strangeness,
\nTheir stillness answering his cry,
\nWhile his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
\n‘Neath the starred and leafy sky;
\nFor he suddenly smote on the door, even
\nLouder, and lifted his head:\u2014
\n‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
\nThat I kept my word,’ he said.
\nNever the least stir made the listeners,
\nThough every word he spake
\nFell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
\nFrom the one man left awake:
\nAy, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
\nAnd the sound of iron on stone,
\nAnd how the silence surged softly backward,
\nWhen the plunging hoofs were gone.<\/p>\nBio<\/h3>\n