August Moonlight

The solemn light behind the barns,
    The rising moon, the cricket's call,
The August night, and you and I -
    What is the meaning of it all!

Has it a meaning, after all?
    Or is it one of Nature's lies,
That net of beauty that she casts
    Over Life's unsuspecting eyes?

That web of beauty that she weaves
    For one strange purpose of her own, -
For this the painted butterfly,
    For this the rose - for this alone!

Strange repetition of the rose,
    And strange reiterated call
Of bird and insect, man and maid, -
    Is that the meaning of it all?

If it means nothing, after all!
    And nothing lives, except to die -
It is enough - that solemn light
    Behind the barns, and you and I.

Richard Le Gallienne

Richard Le Gallienne was an English author and poet born on January 20, 1866. Known for his lyrical poetry, he was a key figure in the literary circles of the fin de siècle. He contributed to the literary magazine 'The Yellow Book' and was involved with the Rhymers' Club, an influential group of London-based poets. His works often explored themes of beauty, love, and nature. His influence extended to both sides of the Atlantic, and he spent the latter part of his life in the United States, where he continued to write until his death on September 15, 1947.

Richard Le Gallienne

So Soon Tired!

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

To Maggie Le Gallienne With Love

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

The Mystic Friends

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

To Mildred

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

English

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Flos Aevorum

You must mean more than just this hour,
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August Moonrise

The sun was gone, and the moon was coming
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Down the hill I went, and then
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From "A Rhapsody"

Sweet solitude, what joy to be alone--
In wild, wood-shady dell to stay for hours.
Twould soften hearts if they were hard as stone
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Tis pleasant in these quiet lonely places,
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To see the little bees with coal black faces
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The wind seems calling, though not understood.
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A June Night.

Ten o'clock: the broken moon
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Earth lies in the shadow still;
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Higher, higher, gathering light,
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    Faint, far sounds possess the ear.


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Love Eternal

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The lad be hero for the lass.

The fashions of our mortal brains
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The beauty of a meadow-flower
Shall make a mock of all our skill,
And God, upon his lonely tower
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The old magician of the skies,
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