On The Morals Of Poets

One says he is immoral, and points out
Warm sin in ruddy specks upon his soul:
Bigot, one folly of the man you flout
Is more to God than thy lean life is whole.

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

Broken Tryst

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

To Lucy Hinton: December 19, 1921

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

Man, The Destroyer

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

Ballade Of The Dead Face That Never Dies

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

English

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The Moral Poet.

Man is in truth a poor creature, I know it, and fain would forget it;
Therefore (how sorry I am!) came I, alas, unto thee!

Friedrich Schiller

Morality. A Familiar Epistle.

ADDRESSED TO J. ATKINSON, ESQ. M. R. I. A.


Though long at school and college dozing.
O'er books of verse and books of prosing,
And copying from their moral pages
Fine recipes for making sages;
Though long with' those divines at school,
Who think to make us good by rule;
Who, in methodic forms advancing,
Teaching morality like dancing,
Tell us, for Heaven or money's sake.
What steps we are through life to take:
Though thus, my friend, so long employed,
With so much midnight oil destroyed,
I must confess my searches past,
I've only learned to doubt at last
I find the doctors and the sages
Have differed in all climes and ages,
And two in fifty scarce agree
On what is pure morality.
'Tis like the rainbow's shifting zone,

Thomas Moore

The Poet Moralizeth - He Discourseth To Those Who Gorge And Complain.

Oh! Kitty Malone--Mrs. Merdle 'tis now--
Was there ever on earth than this, greater folly?

Still gorging, while groaning, and swearing a vow,
That yours is a case of most sad melancholy.

With table that Croesus never had but might covet,
You live but to eat and to eat 'cause you love it;
And yet while you swallow great sirloins of meat
Complain like a beggar of nothing to eat.

Horatio Alger, Jr.

Inscriptions (Of Poets And Poetry)

Poet, a truce to your song!
Have you heard the heart sing?
Like a brook among trees,
Like the humming of bees,
Like the ripple of wine:
Had you heard, would you stay
Blowing bubbles so long?
You have ears for the spheres -
Have you heard the heart sing?

*            *            *            *            *

Have you loved the good books of the world, -
And written none?
Have you loved the great poet, -
And burnt your little rhyme?
'O be my friend, and teach me to be thine.'

*            *            *            *            *

By many hands the work of God is done,
Swart toil, pale thought, flushed dream, he spurneth none:
Yea! and the weaver of a little rhyme
Is seen his worker in his own full time.

Richard Le Gallienne

The Décadent To His Soul

The Décadent was speaking to his soul -
Poor useless thing, he said,
Why did God burden me with such as thou?
The body were enough,
The body gives me all.

The soul's a sort of sentimental wife
That prays and whimpers of the higher life,
Objects to latch-keys, and bewails the old,
The dear old days, of passion and of dream,
When life was a blank canvas, yet untouched
Of the great painter Sin.

Yet, little soul, thou hast fine eyes,
And knowest fine airy motions,
Hast a voice -
Why wilt thou so devote them to the church?

His face grew strangely sweet -
As when a toad smiles.
He dreamed of a new sin:
An incest 'twixt the body and the soul.

He drugged his soul, and in a house of sin
She played all she remembered out of he...

Richard Le Gallienne

Morality

Give me the lifted skirt,
    And the brave ways of wrong,
The fist, the dagger and the sword,
    And the out-spoken song.

Ah! bring me not the love
    That bargains, bids and buys:
For so much loving I will give
    So much in lips and eyes;

But love with bosom bared,
    Sweet as a bird and wild,
That in her savage maidenhood
    Cries for a little child.

Richard Le Gallienne