Dawn And Dark
GOD with His million cares
Went to the left or right,
Leaving our world; and the day
Grew night.
Back from a sphere He came
Over a starry lawn,
Looked at our world; and the dark
Grew dawn.
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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Content
THOUGH singing but the shy and sweet
Untrod by multitudes of feet,
Songs bounded by the brook and wheat,
I have not failed in this,
The only lure my woodland note,
To win all England’s whitest throat!
O bards in gold and fire who wrote,
Be yours all other bliss!
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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Wages
My lass, when God
to suffer sent me,
no gifts he gave,
but only lent me
for gold, my breath,
for silver, labour;
the sky as a friend,
the grass as neighbour.
The Vineyard called
for workers many;
at eve I took
God's punctual penny;
Because I bowed
content, I fancy,
He gave me you
for wages, Nancy!
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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Cicely Bathing
The brook told the dove
And the dove told me
That Cicely's bathing at the pool
With other virgins three.
The brook told the dove
And the dove told me
That Cicely floating on the wave
Woke music in the tree.
The brook told the dove
And the dove told me
That Cicely's drying in the sun,
A snowy sight to see.
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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Bartholomew
Bartholomew is very sweet,
From sandy hair to rosy feet.
Bartholomew is six months old,
And dearer far than pearls or gold.
Bartholomew has deep blue eyes,
Round pieces dropped from out the skies.
Bartholomew is hugged and kissed:
He loves a flower in either fist.
Bartholomew's my saucy son:
No mother has a sweeter one!
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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The Country Faith
HERE in the country’s heart
Where the grass is green,
Life is the same sweet life
As it e’er hath been.
Trust in a God still lives,
And the bell at morn
Floats with a thought of God
O’er the rising corn.
God comes down in the rain,
And the crop grows tall—
This is the country faith,
And the best of all!
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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Bees
You voluble,
Velvety
Vehement fellows
That play on your
Flying and
Musical cellos,
All goldenly
Girdled you
Senerade clover,
Each artist in
Bass but a
Bibulous rover!
You passionate,
Powdery
Pastoral bandits,
Who gave you your
Roaming and
Rollicking mandates?
Come out of my
[...] Read more
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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A Prayer
Tend me my birds, and bring again
The brotherhood of woodland life,
So shall I wear the seasons round
A friend to need, a foe to strife;
Keep me my heritage of lawn,
And grant me, Father, till I die
The fine sincerity of light
And luxury of open sky.
So, learning always, may I find
My heaven around me everywhere,
And go in hope from this to Thee,
The pupil of Thy country air.
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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The First Kiss
On Helen’s heart the day were night!
But I may not adventure there:
Here breast is guarded by a right,
And she is true as fair.
And though in happy days her eyes
The glow within mine own could please,
She’s purer than the babe who cries
For empire on her knees.
Her love is for her lord and child,
And unto them belongs her snow;
But none can rob me of her wild
Young kiss of long ago!
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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This Peach Is Pink With Such a Pink
This peach is pink with such a pink
As suits the peach divinely;
The cunning colour rarely spread
Fades to the yellow finely;
But where to spy the truest pink
Is in my Love's soft cheek, I think.
The snowdrop, child of windy March,
Doth glory in her whiteness;
Her golden neighbours, crocuses,
Unenvious praise her brightness!
But I do know where, out of sight,
My sweetheart keeps a warmer white.
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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