Richard Le Gallienne: The Wife from Fairyland

The Wife from Fairyland

Richard Le Gallienne

Her talk was all of woodland things,  Of little lives that pass Away in one green afternoon,  Deep in the haunted grass;
For she had come from fairyland,  The morning of a day When the world that still was April  Was turning into May.
Green leaves and silence and two eyes —  'T was so she seemed to me, A silver shadow of the woods,  Whisper and mystery.
I looked into her woodland eyes,  And all my heart was hers, And then I led her by the hand  Home up my marble stairs;
And all my granite and my gold  Was hers for her green eyes, And all my sinful heart was hers  From sunset to sunrise;
I gave her all delight and ease  That God had given to me, I listened to fulfill her dreams,  Rapt with expectancy.
But all I gave, and all I did,  Brought but a weary smile Of gratitude upon her face;  As though a little while,
She loitered in magnificence  Of marble and of gold And waited to be home again  When the dull tale was told.
Sometimes, in the chill galleries,  Unseen, she deemed, unheard, I found her dancing like a leaf  And singing like a bird.
So lone a thing I never saw  In lonely earth or sky, So merry and so sad a thing,  One sad, one laughing, eye.
There came a day when on her heart  A wildwood blossom lay, And the world that still was April  Was turning into May.
In the green eyes I saw a smile  That turned my heart to stone: My wife that came from fairyland  No longer was alone.
For there had come a little hand  To show the green way home, Home through the leaves, home through the dew,  Home through the greenwood — home.