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Content: Poem by Norman Rowland Gale

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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!

Analysis of this poem

More verses by Norman Rowland Gale

  • Most Anglers Are Very Humane
  • A Dead Friend
  • Song - Wait But A Little While
  • Cricket On The Hearth
  • An Orchard Dance

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