Moon-Marketing

Let's go to market in the moon,
And buy some dreams together,
Slip on your little silver shoon,
And don your cap and feather;
No need of petticoat or stocking -
No one up there will think it shocking.

Across the dew,
Just I and you,
With all the world behind us;
Away from rules,
Away from fools,
Where nobody can find us.

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

In The Night

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

A New Year Letter

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

Nature The Healer

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

Adoration

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

English

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The Broker Of Dreams

Bring not your dreams to me -
Blown dust, and vapour, and the running stream -
Saying, "He, too, doth dream,
Touched of the moon."

Nay! wouldst thou vanish see
Thy darling phantoms,
Bring them then to me!
For my hard business - though so soft it seems -
Was ever dreams and dreams.

And as some stern-eyed broker smiles disdain,
Valuing at nought
Her bosom's locket, with its little chain,
Love's all that Love hath brought;
So must I weigh and measure
Thy fading treasure,
Sighing to see it go
As surely as the snow.

For I have such sad knowledge of all things
That shine like dew a little, all that sings
And ends its song in weeping -
Such sowing and such reaping! -
There is no cure but sleeping.

Richard Le Gallienne

The Moon.

She comes! again she comes, the bright-eyed moon!
Under a ragged cloud I found her out,
Clasping her own dark orb like hope in doubt!
That ragged cloud hath waited her since noon,
And he hath found and he will hide her soon!
Come, all ye little winds that sit without,
And blow the shining leaves her edge about,
And hold her fast--ye have a pleasant tune!
She will forget us in her walks at night
Among the other worlds that are so fair!
She will forget to look on our despair!
She will forget to be so young and bright!
Nay, gentle moon, thou hast the keys of light--
I saw them hanging by thy girdle there!

George MacDonald

Moonlight North And South

Love, we have heard together
    The North Sea sing his tune,
And felt the wind's wild feather
    Brush past our cheeks at noon,
And seen the cloudy weather
    Made wondrous with the moon.

Where loveliness is rarest,
    'Tis also prized the most:
The moonlight shone her fairest
    Along that level coast
Where sands and dunes the barest,
    Of beauty seldom boast,

Far from that bleak and rude land
    An exile I remain
Fixed in a fair and good land,
    A valley and a plain
Rich in fat fields and woodland,
    And watered well with rain.

Last night the full moon's splendour
    Shone down on Taunton Dene,
And pasture fresh and tender,
    And coppice dusky green,
The heavenly light did render
    In one ...

Robert Fuller Murray

Moonset

Past seven o'clock: time to be gone;
Twelfth-night's over and dawn shivering up:
A hasty cut of the loaf, a steaming cup,
Down to the door, and there is Coachman John.

Ruddy of cheek is John and bright of eye;
But John it appears has none of your grins and winks;
Civil enough, but short: perhaps he thinks:
Words come once in a mile, and always dry.

Has he a mind or not? I wonder; but soon
We turn through a leafless wood, and there to the right,
Like a sun bewitched in alien realms of night,
Mellow and yellow and rounded hangs the moon.

Strangely near she seems, and terribly great:
The world is dead: why are we travelling still?
Nightmare silence grips my struggling will;
We are driving for ever and ever to find a gate.

"When you come to...

Henry John Newbolt

Clare Market

In the market of Clare, so cheery the glare
Of the shops and the booths of the tradespeople there;
That I take a delight on a Saturday night
In walking that way and in viewing the sight.
For it's here that one sees all the objects that please--
New patterns in silk and old patterns in cheese,
For the girls pretty toys, rude alarums for boys,
And baubles galore while discretion enjoys--
But here I forbear, for I really despair
Of naming the wealth of the market of Clare.

A rich man comes down from the elegant town
And looks at it all with an ominous frown;
He seems to despise the grandiloquent cries
Of the vender proclaiming his puddings and pies;
And sniffing he goes through the lanes that disclose
Much cause for disgust to his sensitive nose;
And free o...

Eugene Field

Love's Exchange

Simple am I, I care no whit
    For pelf or place,
It is enough for me to sit
    And watch Dulcinea's face;
To mark the lights and shadows flit
    Across the silver moon of it.

I have no other merchandise,
    No stocks or shares,
No other gold but just what lies
In those deep eyes of hers;
And, sure, if all the world were wise,
It too would bank within her eyes.

I buy up all her smiles all day
    With all my love,
And sell them back, cost-price, or, say,
    A kiss or two above;
It is a speculation fine,
The profit must be always mine.

The world has many things, 'tis true,
    To fill its time,
Far more important things to do
    Than making love and rhyme;
Yet, if it asked me to advise,
I'd say - buy up...

Richard Le Gallienne