Richard Le Gallienne
Biography of Richard Le Gallienne
Richard Le Gallienne (January 20, 1866 - September 15, 1947) was an English author. The American actress Eva Le Gallienne (1899-1991) was his daughter, by his second marriage.
He was born in Liverpool. He started work in an accountant's office, but abandoned this job to become a professional writer. The book My Ladies' Sonnets appeared during 1887, and during 1889 be became for a brief time literary secretary to Wilson Barrett.
He joined the staff of the newspaper The Star during 1891, and wrote for various papers by the name Logroller. He contributed to The Yellow Book, and associated with the Rhymer's Club.
His first wife, Mildred Lee, died during 1894, and during 1897 he married Julie Noiregard, subsequently becoming a resident of the United States. They divorced a few years later. During 1906 he translated, from the Danish, Peter Nansen's Loves Trilogy.
In later times he knew Llewelyn Powys and John Cowper Powys.
Asked how to say his name, he told The Literary Digest the stress was "on the last syllable: le gal-i-enn'. As a rule I hear it pronounced as if it were spelled 'gallion,' which, of course, is wrong." (Charles Earle Funk, What's the Name, Please?, Funk & Wagnalls, 1936.)
Richard Le Gallienne Poems
Soldier Going To The War
Soldier going to the war-- Will you take my heart with you, So that I may share a little In the famous things you do?
A Face In A Book
In an old book I found her face Writ by a dead man long ago- I found, and then I lost the place; So nothing but her face I know,
A Library In A Garden
A world of books amid a world of green, Sweet song without, sweet song again within
A Child's Even-Song
The sun is weary, for he ran So far and fast to-day; The birds are weary, for who sang So many songs as they?
A Caravan From China Comes (After Hafiz)
A caravan from China comes; For miles it sweetens all the air With fragrant silks and dreaming gums, Attar and myrrh --
We, deeming day-light fair, and loving well Its forms and dyes, and all the motley play Of lives that win their colour from the day,
She's somewhere in the sunlight strong, Her tears are in the falling rain, She calls me in the wind's soft song, And with the flowers she comes again.
An Ode To Spring
Is it the Spring? Or are the birds all wrong That play on flute and viol, A thousand strong,
A Ballad Of London
AH, London! London! our delight, Great flower that opens but at night, Great City of the midnight sun, Whose day begins when day is done.
May Is Building Her House
May is building her house. With apple blooms She is roofing over the glimmering rooms; Of the oak and the beech hath she builded its beams, And, spinning all day at her secret looms,
'These things are real,' said one, and bade me gaze On black and mighty shapes of iron and stone, On murder, on madness, on lust, on towns ablaze,
The Cry Of The Little Peoples
The Cry of the Little Peoples went up to God in vain; The Czech and the Pole, and the Finn, and the Schleswig
Sunset In The City
Above the town a monstrous wheel is turning, With glowing spokes of red, Low in the west its fiery axle burning;
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!
I Said--I Care Not
I said-I care not if I can
But look into her eyes again,
But lay my hand within her hand
Just once again.
Though all the world be filled with snow
And fire and cataclysmal storm,
I'll cross it just to lay my head
Upon her bosom warm.