Norman Rowland Gale
Biography of Norman Rowland Gale
Norman Rowland Gale (4 March 1862 – 7 October 1942) was a poet, story-teller and reviewer, who published many books over a period of nearly fifty years.
His best-known poem is probably The Country Faith, which is in the Oxford Book of English Verse.
This page is based on the copyrighted Wikipedia Norman Rowland Gale; it is used under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. You may redistribute it, verbatim or modified, providing that you comply with the terms of the CC-BY-SA.
Norman Rowland Gale Poems
Last night some yellow letters fell From out a scrip I found by chance; Among them was the silent ghost, The spirit of my first romance:
Bartholomew is very sweet, From sandy hair to rosy feet.
Golf Steals Our Youth
Have you seen the golfers airy Prancing forth to their vagary, Just as frisky in their gaiters As a flock of Grecian Satyrs,
The Decimal Point
When first sent to School (now the Station was Rugby) I fancied my masters and took to the boys; I thought to myself--here 'tis plain I shall snug be Revolving at last in an orbit of joys:
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.
The Ballade of the Glutton
I'm greedy by nature, and often in vain Have lingered too long o'er the succulent hare, Accepting the jelly, ignoring the pain, Intent on receiving far more than my share.
On Seeing a Train Start for the Seaside
O might I leave this grassy place For spreading foam about my feet! The splendid spray upon my face, The flying brine itself were sweet
The Amateur Photographer
Beware of those who slyly pilch In many cunning ways; Beware of little lyres that filch From undisputed bays!
The Fairy Book
In summer, when the grass is thick, if Mother has the time, She shows me with her pencil how a poet makes a rhyme,
NATURE and he went ever hand in hand Across the hills and down the lonely lane; They captured starry shells upon the strand And lay enchanted by the musing main.
You voluble, Velvety Vehement fellows That play on your
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.
My Country Love
If you passed her in your city You would call her badly dressed, But the faded homespun covers Such a heart in such a breast!
The Golden Game
If ever there was a Golden Game To brace the nerves, to cure repining, To put the Dumps to flight and shame,
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.