Richard Le Gallienne Poems

I read there is a man who sits apart,
A sort of human spider in his den,
Who meditates upon a fearful art--
...

Through the dark wood
There came to me a friend,
Bringing in his cold hands
Two words-'The End.'
...

Why did she marry him? Ah, say why!
How was her fancy caught?
What was the dream that he drew her by,
Or was she only bought?
...

When the embalmer closed my eyes,
And all the family went in black,
And shipped me off to Paradise,
I had no thought of coming back;
...

Doth it not thrill thee, Poet,
Dead and dust though thou art,
To feel how I press thy singing
Close to my heart?-
...

Poet, whose words are like the tight-packed seed
Sealed in the capsule of a silver flower,
Still at your art we wonder as we read,
...

The woods we used to walk, my love,
Are woods no more,
But' villas' now with sounding names--
All name and door.
...

Mammon is this, of murder and of gold,
To-day, to-morrow, and ever from of old,
...

Great Omar, here to-night we drain a bowl
Unto thy long-since transmigrated soul,
...

Go, little book, and be the looking-glass
Of her dear soul,
The mirror of her moments as they pass,
Keeping the whole;
...