Norman Rowland Gale Poems

Excuse me, Sweetheart, if I smear,
With wisdom learnt from ancient teachers,
Now winter time once more is here,
...

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.
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If ever there was a Golden Game
To brace the nerves, to cure repining,
To put the Dumps to flight and shame,
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The brook told the dove
And the dove told me
That Cicely's bathing at the pool
With other virgins three.
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GOD with His million cares
Went to the left or right,
Leaving our world; and the day
Grew night.
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Shy maids have haunts of still delight,
The lover glades he never tells;
And one is mine where mass the bright
And odoured chimes of foxglove-bells.
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All work is over at the farm
And men and maids are ripe for glee;
Love slips among them sly and warm
Or calls them to the chestnut-tree.
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When red-nosed Winter takes the road,
An icicle his walking-stick,
When frost is on the woodman's load,
And snow is falling fast and thick,
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WAIT but a little while—
The bird will bring
A heart in tune for melodies
Unto the spring,
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IT hardly seems that he is dead,
So strange it is that we are here
Beneath this great blue shell of sky
With apple-bloom and pear:
...