POEMS***


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THE LONELY DANCER AND OTHER POEMS

BY

RICHARD LE GALLIENNE

1913






WITH A FRONTISPIECE PORTRAIT BY

IRMA LE GALLIENNE




TO

IRMA

ALL THE WAY


Not all my treasure hath the bandit Time
  Locked in his glimmering caverns of the Past:
Fair women dead and friendships of old rhyme,
  And noble dreams that had to end at last:--
Ah! these indeed; and from youth's sacristy
  Full many a holy relic hath he torn,
Vessels of mystic faith God filled for me,
  Holding them up to Him in life's young morn.

All these are mine no more--Time hath them all,
  Time and his adamantine gaoler Death:
Despoilure vast--yet seemeth it but small,
  When unto thee I turn, thy bloom and breath
Filling with light and incense the last shrine,
  Innermost, inaccessible,--yea, thine.




CONTENTS


THE LONELY DANCER

I

FLOS AEVORUM
"ALL THE WORDS IN ALL THE WORLD"
"I SAID--I CARE NOT"
"ALL THE WIDE WORLD IS BUT THE THOUGHT OF YOU"
"LIGHTNINGS MAY FLICKER ROUND MY HEAD"
"THE AFTERNOON IS LONELY FOR YOUR FACE"
"SORE IN NEED WAS I OF A FAITHFUL FRIEND"
"I THOUGHT, BEFORE MY SUNLIT TWENTIETH YEAR"

II

TO A BIRD AT DAWN
ALMA VENUS
"AH! DID YOU EVER HEAR THE SPRING"
APRIL
MAY IS BUILDING HER HOUSE
SHADOW
JUNE
GREEN SILENCE
SUMMER SONGS
TO A WILD BIRD
"I CROSSED THE ORCHARD WALKING HOME"
"I MEANT TO DO MY WORK TO-DAY"
"HOW FAST THE YEAR IS GOING BY"
AUGUST MOONLIGHT
TO A ROSE
INVITATION
SUMMER GOING
AUTUMN TREASURE
WINTER
THE MYSTIC FRIENDS
THE COUNTRY GODS

III

TO ONE ON A JOURNEY
HER PORTRAIT IMMORTAL
SPRING'S PROMISES
"APRIL IS IN THE WORLD AGAIN"
"SINGING GO I"
"WHO WAS IT SWEPT AGAINST MY DOOR"
"FACE IN THE TOMB THAT LIES SO STILL"
"I KNOW NOT IN WHAT PLACE"
RESURRECTION
"WHEN THE LONG DAY HAS FADED"
"HER EYES ARE BLUEBELLS NOW"
"THE DEAD AROSE"
"THE BLOOM UPON THE GRAPE"
THE FRIEND
ADORATION
"AT LAST I GOT A LETTER FROM THE DEAD"

IV

SONGS FOR FRAGOLETTA

V

A BALLAD OF WOMAN
AN EASTER HYMN
BALLAD OF THE SEVEN O'CLOCK WHISTLE
MORALITY

VI

FOR THE BIRTHDAY OF EDGAR ALLAN POE
TO RALPH WALDO EMERSON
RICHARD WATSON GILDER
IN A COPY OF FITZGERALD'S "OMAR"

VII

A BALLAD OF TOO MUCH BEAUTY
SPRING IN THE PARIS CATACOMBS
A FACE IN A BOOK
TIME, BEAUTY'S FRIEND
YOUNG LOVE
LOVERS
FOR A PICTURE BY ROSE CECIL O'NEIL
LOVE IN SPAIN
THE EYES THAT COME FROM IRELAND
A BALLAD OF THE KIND LITTLE CREATURES
BLUE FLOWER
THE HEART UNSEEN
THE SHIMMER OF THE SOUND
A SONG OF SINGERS
THE END



THE LONELY DANCER

I had no heart to join the dance,
  I danced it all so long ago--
Ah! light-winged music out of France,
  Let other feet glide to and fro,
Weaving new patterns of romance
  For bosoms of new-fallen snow.

But leave me thus where I may hear
  The leafy rustle of the waltz,
The shell-like murmur in my ear,
  The silken whisper fairy-false
Of unseen rainbows circling near,
  And the glad shuddering of the walls.

Another dance the dancers spin,
  A shadow-dance of mystic pain,
And other partners enter in
  And dance within my lonely brain--
The swaying woodland shod in green,
  The ghostly dancers of the rain;

The lonely dancers of the sea,
  Foam-footed on the sandy bar,
The wizard dance of wind and tree,
  The eddying dance of stream and star;
Yea, all these dancers tread for me
  A measure mournful and bizarre:

An echo-dance where ear is eye,
  And sound evokes the shapes of things,
Where out of silence and a sigh
  The sad world like a picture springs,
As, when some secret bird sweeps by,
  We see it in the sound of wings.

Those human feet upon the floor,
  That eager pulse of rhythmic breath,--
How sadly to an unknown shore
  Each silver footfall hurryeth;
A dance of autumn leaves, no more,
  On the fantastic wind of death.

Fire clasped to elemental fire,
  'Tis thus the solar atom whirls;
The butterfly in aery gyre,
  On autumn mornings, swarms and swirls,
In dance of delicate desire,
  No other than these boys and girls.

The same strange music everywhere,
  The woven paces just the same,
Dancing from out the viewless air
  Into the void from whence they came;
Ah! but they make a gallant flare
  Against the dark, each little flame!

And what if all the meaning lies
  Just in the music, not in those
Who dance thus with transfigured eyes,
  Holding in vain each other close;
Only the music never dies,
  The dance goes on,--the dancer goes.

A woman dancing, or a world
  Poised on one crystal foot afar,
In shining gulfs of silence whirled,
  Like notes of the strange music are;
Small shape against another curled,
  Or dancing dust that makes a star.

To him who plays the violin
  All one it is who joins the reel,
Drops from the dance, or enters in;
  So that the never-ending wheel
Cease not its mystic course to spin,
  For weal or woe, for woe or weal.


I

FLOS AEVORUM

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