I Said--I Care Not
I said-I care not if I can
But look into her eyes again,
But lay my hand within her hand
Just once again.
Though all the world be filled with snow
And fire and cataclysmal storm,
I'll cross it just to lay my head
Upon her bosom warm.
Ah! bosom made of April flowers,
Might I but bring this aching brain,
This foolish head, and lay it down
On April once again!
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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When The Long Day Has Faded
When the long day has faded to its end,
The flowers gone, and all the singing done,
And there is no companion left save Death-
Ah! there is one,
Though in her grave she lies this many a year,
Will send a violet made of her blue eyes,
A flowering whisper of her April breath,
Up through the sleeping grass to comfort me,
And in the April rain her tears shall fall.
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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How Fast The Year Is Going By
How fast the year is going by!
Love, it will be September soon;
O let us make the best of June.
Already, love, it is July;
The rose and honeysuckle go,
And all too soon will come the snow.
Dark berries take the place of flowers,
Of summer August still remains,
Then sad September with her rains.
O love, how short a year is ours-
So swiftly does the summer fly,
Scarce time is left to say goodbye.
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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April Is In The World Again
April is in the world again,
And all the world is filled with flowers-
Flowers for others, not for me!
For my one flower I cannot see,
Lost in the April showers.
I cannot wake her, though I sing,
And all the birds, for her dear sake,
Fill with their songs the wintry brake;
Ah! could they make her rise again,
What resurrection would be mine!
Is she too tired to help the sun
And all the little stars to shine?
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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Soldier Going To The War
Soldier going to the war--
Will you take my heart with you,
So that I may share a little
In the famous things you do?
Soldier going to the war--
If in battle you must fall,
Will you, among all the faces,
See my face the last of all?
Soldier coming from the war--
Who shall bind your sunburnt brow
With the laurel of the hero,
Soldier, soldier--vow for vow!
Soldier coming from the war--
When the street is one wide sea,
Flags and streaming eyes and glory--
Soldier, will you look for me?
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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Comfort of Dante
Down where the unconquered river still flows on,
One strong free thing within a prison's heart,
I drew me with my sacred grief apart,
That it might look that spacious joy upon:
And as I mused, lo! Dante walked with me,
And his face spake of the high peace of pain
Till all my grief glowed in me throbbingly
As in some lily's heart might glow the rain.
So like a star I listened, till mine eye
Caught that lone land across the water-way
Wherein my lady breathed,-now breathing is-
'O Dante,' then I said, 'she more than I
Should know thy comfort, go to
her
, I pray.'
'Nay!' answered he, 'for she hath Beatrice.'
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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For The Birthday of Edgar Allan Poe
(January 19, 1909)
Poet of doom, dementia, and death,
Of beauty singing in a charnel house,
Like the lost soul of a poor moon-mad maid,
With too much loving of some lord of hell;
Doomed and disastrous spirit, to what shore
Of what dark gulf infernal art thou strayed,
Or to what spectral star of topless heaven
Art lifted and enthroned?
The winter dark,
And the drear winter cold that welcomed thee
To a world all winter, gird with ice and storm
Thy January day-yea! the same world
Of winter and the wintry hearts of men;
And still, for all thy shining, the same swarm
That mocked thy song gather about thy fame,
With the small murmur of the undying worm,
And whisper, blind and foul, amid thy dust.
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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A Child's Even-Song
The sun is weary, for he ran
So far and fast to-day;
The birds are weary, for who sang
So many songs as they?
The bees and butterflies at last
Are tired out, for just think too
How many gardens through the day
Their little wings have fluttered through.
And so, as all tired people do,
They've gone to lay their sleepy heads
Deep deep in warm and happy beds.
The sun has shut his golden eye
And gone to sleep beneath the sky,
The birds and butterflies and bees
Have all crept into flowers and trees,
And all lie quiet, still as mice,
Till morning comes-like father's voice.
So Geoffrey, Owen, Phyllis, you
Must sleep away till morning too.
[...] Read more
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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Spring's Promises
When the spring comes again, will you be there?
Three springs I watched and waited for your face,
And listened for your voice upon the air;
I sought for you in many a hidden place,
Saying, 'She must be there.'
'Surely some magic slumber holds her fast,
She whose blue eyes were morning's earliest flowers,'
I sighed: and, one by one, before me passed
The rainbowed daughters of the vernal showers,
Saying, 'She comes at last.'
Ah! broken promise of the world! how fair
You speak young hearts! In many a wanton word
Of lyric April, each succeeding year,
By risen flower, and the returning bird,
You vowed to bring back her.
And now the flutes are in the trees once more,
The violets breathe up through the melting snow,
[...] Read more
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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Ballade Of The Paid Puritan
In vain with whip and knotted cord
The hirelings of hypocrisy
Would make us comely for the Lord:
Think ye God works through such as ye--
Paid Puritan, plump Pharisee,
And lobbyist fingering his fat bill,
Reeking of rum and bribery:
God needs not you to work His will.
We know you whom you serve, abhorred
Traducers of true piety,
What tarnished gold is your reward
In Washington and Albany;
'Tis not from God you take your fee,
Another's purpose to fulfil,
You that are God's worst enemy:
God needs not you to work His will.
Not by the money-changing horde,
Base traders in the sanctuary,
[...] Read more
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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