The Lonely Dancer and Other Poems

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Title: The Lonely Dancer and Other Poems
Author: Richard Le Gallienne
Release Date: December 14, 2003 [eBook #10457]
Language: English
Character set encoding: US-ASCII
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THE LONELY DANCER AND OTHER POEMS
BY
RICHARD LE GALLIENNE
1913
WITH A FRONTISPIECE PORTRAIT BY
IRMA LE GALLIENNE
TO
IRMA
ALL THE WAY
Not all my treasure hath the bandit Time?Locked in his glimmering caverns of the Past:?Fair women dead and friendships of old rhyme,?And noble dreams that had to end at last:--?Ah! these indeed; and from youth's sacristy?Full many a holy relic hath he torn,?Vessels of mystic faith God filled for me,?Holding them up to Him in life's young morn.
All these are mine no more--Time hath them all,?Time and his adamantine gaoler Death:?Despoilure vast--yet seemeth it but small,?When unto thee I turn, thy bloom and breath?Filling with light and incense the last shrine,?Innermost, inaccessible,--yea, thine.
CONTENTS
THE LONELY DANCER
I
FLOS AEVORUM?"ALL THE WORDS IN ALL THE WORLD"?"I SAID--I CARE NOT"?"ALL THE WIDE WORLD IS BUT THE THOUGHT OF YOU"?"LIGHTNINGS MAY FLICKER ROUND MY HEAD"?"THE AFTERNOON IS LONELY FOR YOUR FACE"?"SORE IN NEED WAS I OF A FAITHFUL FRIEND"?"I THOUGHT, BEFORE MY SUNLIT TWENTIETH YEAR"
II
TO A BIRD AT DAWN?ALMA VENUS?"AH! DID YOU EVER HEAR THE SPRING"?APRIL?MAY IS BUILDING HER HOUSE?SHADOW?JUNE?GREEN SILENCE?SUMMER SONGS?TO A WILD BIRD?"I CROSSED THE ORCHARD WALKING HOME"?"I MEANT TO DO MY WORK TO-DAY"?"HOW FAST THE YEAR IS GOING BY"?AUGUST MOONLIGHT?TO A ROSE?INVITATION?SUMMER GOING?AUTUMN TREASURE?WINTER?THE MYSTIC FRIENDS?THE COUNTRY GODS
III
TO ONE ON A JOURNEY?HER PORTRAIT IMMORTAL?SPRING'S PROMISES?"APRIL IS IN THE WORLD AGAIN"?"SINGING GO I"?"WHO WAS IT SWEPT AGAINST MY DOOR"?"FACE IN THE TOMB THAT LIES SO STILL"?"I KNOW NOT IN WHAT PLACE"?RESURRECTION?"WHEN THE LONG DAY HAS FADED"?"HER EYES ARE BLUEBELLS NOW"?"THE DEAD AROSE"?"THE BLOOM UPON THE GRAPE"?THE FRIEND?ADORATION?"AT LAST I GOT A LETTER FROM THE DEAD"
IV
SONGS FOR FRAGOLETTA
V
A BALLAD OF WOMAN?AN EASTER HYMN?BALLAD OF THE SEVEN O'CLOCK WHISTLE?MORALITY
VI
FOR THE BIRTHDAY OF EDGAR ALLAN POE?TO RALPH WALDO EMERSON?RICHARD WATSON GILDER?IN A COPY OF FITZGERALD'S "OMAR"
VII
A BALLAD OF TOO MUCH BEAUTY?SPRING IN THE PARIS CATACOMBS?A FACE IN A BOOK?TIME, BEAUTY'S FRIEND?YOUNG LOVE?LOVERS?FOR A PICTURE BY ROSE CECIL O'NEIL?LOVE IN SPAIN?THE EYES THAT COME FROM IRELAND?A BALLAD OF THE KIND LITTLE CREATURES?BLUE FLOWER?THE HEART UNSEEN?THE SHIMMER OF THE SOUND?A SONG OF SINGERS?THE END
THE LONELY DANCER
I had no heart to join the dance,?I danced it all so long ago--?Ah! light-winged music out of France,?Let other feet glide to and fro,?Weaving new patterns of romance?For bosoms of new-fallen snow.
But leave me thus where I may hear?The leafy rustle of the waltz,?The shell-like murmur in my ear,?The silken whisper fairy-false?Of unseen rainbows circling near,?And the glad shuddering of the walls.
Another dance the dancers spin,?A shadow-dance of mystic pain,?And other partners enter in?And dance within my lonely brain--?The swaying woodland shod in green,?The ghostly dancers of the rain;
The lonely dancers of the sea,?Foam-footed on the sandy bar,?The wizard dance of wind and tree,?The eddying dance of stream and star;?Yea, all these dancers tread for me?A measure mournful and bizarre:
An echo-dance where ear is eye,?And sound evokes the shapes of things,?Where out of silence and a sigh?The sad world like a picture springs,?As, when some secret bird sweeps by,?We see it in the sound of wings.
Those human feet upon the floor,?That eager pulse of rhythmic breath,--?How sadly to an unknown shore?Each silver footfall hurryeth;?A dance of autumn leaves, no more,?On the fantastic wind of death.
Fire clasped to elemental fire,?'Tis thus the solar atom whirls;?The butterfly in aery gyre,?On autumn mornings, swarms and swirls,?In dance of delicate desire,?No other than these boys and girls.
The same strange music everywhere,?The woven paces just the same,?Dancing from out the viewless air?Into the void from whence they came;?Ah! but they make a gallant flare?Against the dark, each little flame!
And what if all the meaning lies?Just in the music, not in those?Who dance thus with transfigured eyes,?Holding in vain each other close;?Only the music never dies,?The dance goes on,--the dancer goes.
A woman dancing, or a world?Poised on one crystal foot afar,?In shining gulfs of silence whirled,?Like notes of the strange music are;?Small shape against another curled,?Or dancing dust that makes a star.
To him who plays the violin?All one it is who joins the reel,?Drops from the dance, or enters in;?So that the never-ending wheel?Cease not its mystic course to spin,?For weal or woe, for woe or weal.
I
FLOS AEVORUM
You must mean more than just this hour,?You perfect thing so subtly fair,?Simple and complex as a flower,?Wrought with such planetary care;?How patient the eternal power?That wove the marvel