For A Picture By Rose Cecil O'Neil

Kisses are long forgotten of this twain,
    Kisses and words - the sweet small prophecies
That run before the Lord of Love: the fain
    Touch of the hand, and feasting of the eyes,
All tendrilled sweets that blossom at the door
    Of the stern doom, whose ecstacy is this -
    The end of all small speech of word or kiss,
And whose strange name is Love - and one name more.

One is this twain past power of speech to tell,
    Each lost in each, and each for ever found;
Drained is the cup that holds both heaven and hell;
    Peace deep as peace of those divinely drowned
    In leagues of moonlit water wraps them round,
And it is well with them - yea! it is well.

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

A Ballad Of London - (To H. W. Massinsham)

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

Blue Flower

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

Shadow

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

To The Golden Wife

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

English

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Lovers

Why should I ask perfection of thee, sweet,
That have so little of mine own to bring?
That thou art beautiful from head to feet -
Is that, beloved, such a little thing,
That I should ask more of thee, and should fling
Thy largesse from me, in a world like this,
O generous giver of thy perfect kiss?

Thou gavest me thy lips, thine eyes, thine hair;
I brought thee worship - was it not thy due?
If thou art cruel - still art thou not fair?
Roses thou gavest - shalt thou not bring rue?
Alas! have I not brought thee sorrow too?
How dare I face the future and its drouth,
Missing that golden honeycomb thy mouth?

Kiss and make up - 'tis the wise ancient way;
Back to my arms, O bountiful deep breast!
No more of words that know not what they say;
To kiss ...

Richard Le Gallienne

The Last Tryst

The cowbells wander through the woods,
'Neath arching boughs a stream slips by,
In all the ferny solitude
A chipmunk and a butterfly
Are all that is - and you and I.

This summer day, with all its flowers,
With all its green and gold and blue,
Just for a little while is ours,
Just for a little - I and you:
Till the stars rise and bring the dew.

One perfect day to us is given;
Tomorrow - all the aching years;
This is our last short day in heaven,
The last of all our kisses nears -
Then life too arid even for tears.

Here, as the day ends, we two end,
Two that were one, we said, for ever;
We had Eternity to spend,
And laughed for joy to know that never
Two so divinely one could sever.

A year ago - how rich we seemed!

Richard Le Gallienne

A Ballad Of Kisses.

I.

    There are three kisses that I call to mind,
    And I will sing their secrets as I go.
    The first, a kiss too courteous to be kind,
    Was such a kiss as monks and maidens know;
    As sharp as frost, as blameless as the snow.


II.

    The second kiss, ah God! I feel it yet,
    And evermore my soul will loathe the same.
    The toys and joys of fate I may forget,
    But not the touch of that divided shame:
    It clove my lips; it burnt me like a flame.


III.

    The third, the final kiss, is one I use
    Morning and noon and night; and not amiss.
    Sorrow be mine if such I do refuse!
    And when I die, be love, enrapt in bliss,
    Re-sanctified in Heaven by such a kiss.

Eric Mackay

Young Love

Young love, all rainbows in the lane,
    Brushed by the honeysuckle vines,
Scattered the wild rose in a dream:
    A sweeter thing his arm entwines.

Ah, redder lips than any rose!
    Ah, sweeter breath than any bee
Sucks from the heart of any flower;
    Ah, bosom like the Summer sea!

A fairy creature made of dew
    And moonrise and the songs of birds,
And laughter like the running brook,
    And little soft, heart-broken words.

Haunted as marble in the moon,
    Her whiteness lies on young love's breast.
And living frankincense and myrrh
    Her lips that on his lips are pressed.

Her eyes are lost within his eyes,
    His eyes in hers are fathoms deep;
Death is not stiller than these twain
    That smile as in a magic...

Richard Le Gallienne

The Kiss.

Grow to my lip, thou sacred kiss,
On which my soul's beloved swore
That there should come a time of bliss,
When she would mock my hopes no more.
And fancy shall thy glow renew,
In sighs at morn, and dreams at night,
And none shall steal thy holy dew
Till thou'rt absolved by rapture's rite.
Sweet hours that are to make me blest,
Fly, swift as breezes, to the goal,
And let my love, my more than soul,
Come blushing to this ardent breast.
Then, while in every glance I drink
The rich overflowing of her mind,
Oh! let her all enamored sink
In sweet abandonment resigned,
Blushing for all our struggles past,
And murmuring, "I am thine at last!"

Thomas Moore

Before Dawn

Sweet life, if life were stronger,
Earth clear of years that wrong her,
Then two things might live longer,
Two sweeter things than they;
Delight, the rootless flower,
And love, the bloomless bower;
Delight that lives an hour,
And love that lives a day.

From evensong to daytime,
When April melts in Maytime,
Love lengthens out his playtime,
Love lessens breath by breath,
And kiss by kiss grows older
On listless throat or shoulder
Turned sideways now, turned colder
Than life that dreams of death.

This one thing once worth giving
Life gave, and seemed worth living;
Sin sweet beyond forgiving
And brief beyond regret:
To laugh and love together
And weave with foam and feather
And wind and words the tether
Our memories p...

Algernon Charles Swinburne