Norman Rowland Gale
Content - Poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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!
Comments about Content by Norman Rowland Gale
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.