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 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?
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,
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 --
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.
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,
'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,
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.
The Wife from Fairyland
Her talk was all of woodland things, Of little lives that pass Away in one green afternoon, Deep in the haunted grass;
Great Omar, here to-night we drain a bowl Unto thy long-since transmigrated soul,
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!
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,
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--
I Know Not In What Place
I know not in what place again I'll meet
The face I love-but there is not a street
In the wide world where you can wander, sweet,
Without my finding you, with those great eyes;
Nor is there any star in all the skies
Can give you shelter from my pitiless love.