Richard Le Gallienne Poems

All the wide world is but the thought of you:
Who made you out of wonder and of dew?
Was it some god with tears in his deep eyes,
...

All the flowers cannot weave
A garland worthy of your hair,
Not a bird in the four winds
Can sing of you that is so fair.
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Alone! once more alone! how like a tomb
My little parlour sounds which only now
Yearned like some holy chancel with his voice.
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I was reading a letter of yours to-day,
The date--O a thousand years ago!
The postmark is there--the month was May:
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Ye are young, ye are young,
I am old, I am old;
And the song has been sung
And the story been told.
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Let all things vanish, if but you remain;
For if you stay, beloved, what is gone?
Yet, should you go, all permanence is vain,
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April, half-clad in flowers and showers,
Walks, like a blossom, o'er the land;
She smiles at May, and laughing takes
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Art is a gipsy,
Fickle as fair,
Good to kiss and flirt with,
But marry--if you dare!
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As in the woodland I walk, many a strange thing I learn--
How from the dross and the drift the beautiful things return,
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Ah, if you worship anything,
In deepest hush of silence bend
The lone adoring knee,
And only silence bring
...