Summer Going

Crickets calling,
Apples falling.

Summer dying,
Life is flying.

So soon over -
Love and lover.

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

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Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

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Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

Man, The Destroyer

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

Soldier Going To The War

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

English

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Summer Songs

I

How thick the grass,
    How green the shade -
All for love
    And lovers made.

Wood-lilies white
    As hidden lace -
Open your bodice,
    That's their place.

See how the sun-god
    Overpowers
The summer lying
    Deep in flowers;

With burning kisses
    Of bright gold
Fills her young womb
    With joy untold;

And all the world
    Is lad and lass,
A blue sky
    And a couch of grass.

Summer is here -
    let us drain
It all! it may
    Not come again.


II

How the leaves thicken
    On the boughs,
And the birds make
Their lyric vows.

O the beating, breaking
    Heart of things,
The pulse and passion -
    How it ...

Richard Le Gallienne

How Fast The Year Is Going By

How fast the year is going by!
    Love, it will be September soon;
    O let us make the best of June.
Already, love, it is July;
    The rose and honeysuckle go,
    And all too soon will come the snow.

Dark berries take the place of flowers,
    Of summer August still remains,
    Then sad September with her rains.
O love, how short a year is ours -
    So swiftly does the summer fly,
    Scarce time is left to say goodbye.

Richard Le Gallienne

Autumn

The sad nights are here and the sad mornings,
The air is filled with portents and with warnings,
Clouds that vastly loom and winds that cry,
A mournful prescience
Of bright things going hence;
Red leaves are blown about the widowed sky,
And late disconsolate blooms
Dankly bestrew
The garden walks, as in deserted rooms
The parted guest, in haste to bid adieu,
Trinklets and shreds forgotten left behind,
Torn letters and a ribbon once so brave -
Wreckage none cares to save,
And hearts grow sad to find;
And phantom echoes, as of old foot-falls,
Wander and weary out in the thin air,
And the last cricket calls -
A tiny sorrow, shrilling "Where? ah! where?"

Richard Le Gallienne

June

We thought that winter, love, would never end,
    That the dark year had slain the innocent May,
    Nor hoped that your soft hand, this summer day,
Would lie, as now, in mine, beloved friend;
    And, like some magic spring, your dream-deep eyes
    Hold all the summer skies.

But lo! the world again is mad with flowers,
    The long white silence spake, small bird by bird,
Blade after blade, amid the song of showers,
    The grass stole back once more, and there was heard
The ancient music of the vernal spheres,
Half laughter and half tears.

Ah! love, and now too swiftly, like some groom,
    Raining hot kisses on his bride's young mouth,
    The mad young year, delirious with the South,
Squanders his fairy treasure, bloom on bloom;
    Too soon ...

Richard Le Gallienne

The Close Of Summer

The wild-plum tree, whose leaves grow thin,
Has strewn the way with half its fruit:
The grasshopper's and cricket's din
Grows hushed and mute;
The veery seems a far-off flute
Where Summer listens, hand on chin,
And taps an idle foot.

A silvery haze veils half the hills,
That crown themselves with clouds like cream;
The crow its clamor almost stills,
The hawk its scream;
The aster stars begin to gleam;
And 'mid them, by the sleepy rills,
The Summer dreams her dream.

The butterfly upon its weed
Droops as if weary of its wings;
The bee, 'mid blooms that turn to seed,
Half-hearted clings,
Sick of the only song it sings,
While Summer tunes a drowsy reed
And dreams of far-off things.

Passion, of which unrest is part,
T...

Madison Julius Cawein

Time's Monotone

        Autumn and Winter,
        Summer and Spring -
Hath Time no other song to sing?
Weary we grow of the changeless tune -
        June - December,
        December - June!

Time, like a bird, hath but one song,
    One way to build, like a bird hath he;
Thus hath he built so long, so long,
    Thus hath he sung - Ah me!

Time, like a spider, knows, be sure,
    One only wile, though he seems so wise:
Death is his web, and Love his lure,
    And you and I his flies.


            'Love!' he sings
        In the morning clear,
            'Love! Love! Love!'
        And you never hear
        How, under his breath,
        He whispers, 'Death!
        Death! Death!'

Yet Time - 'tis the strangest thing of al...

Richard Le Gallienne