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.
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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:
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.
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,
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 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:
Cricket On The Hearth
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,
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.
A Dead Friend
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:
An Orchard Dance
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.
Most Anglers Are Very Humane
The kind-hearted angler was sadly pursuing His calling unhallowed of choking the fishes; He bitterly wept, for of course he was doing An action most strongly opposed to his wishes!
Dawn And Dark
GOD with His million cares Went to the left or right, Leaving our world; and the day Grew night.
You voluble, Velvety Vehement fellows That play on your
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,
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.