Richard Le Gallienne Poems

I nothing did all yesterday
But listen to the singing rain
On roof and weeping window-pane,
And, 'whiles I'd watch the flying spray
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Brother that ploughs the furrow I late ploughed,
God give thee grace, and fruitful harvesting,
Tis fair sweet earth, be it under sun or cloud,
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_You that would break with the Past,
Why with so rude a gesture take your leave?
None hinders, go your way; but wherefore cast
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And is it true indeed, and must you go,
Set out alone across that moorland track,
No love avail, though we have loved you so,
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Strange little spring, by channels past our telling,
Gentle, resistless, welling, welling, welling;
Through what blind ways, we know not whence
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Still towards the steep Parnassian way
The moon-led pilgrims wend,
Ah, who of all that start to-day
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O rose! forbear to flaunt yourself,
All bloom and dew-
I once, sad-hearted as I am,
Was young as you.
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Who dough shall knead as for God's sake
Shall fill it with celestial leaven,
And every loaf that she shall bake
Be eaten of the Blest in heaven.
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Wild bird, I stole you from your nest,
And cannot find your nest again;
To hear you chirp a little while
I wrung your mother's heart with pain.
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Our tears, our songs, our laurels--what are these
To thee in thy Gethsemane of loss,
Stretched in thine unimagined agonies
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