Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A PRIEST, by NORMAN ROWLAND GALE Poet's Biography First Line: Nature and he went ever hand in hand Last Line: And on his wife's breast fell, serenely dead! Subject(s): Clergy; Priests; Rabbis; Ministers; Bishops | ||||||||
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. So She, who loved him for his love of her, Made him the heir to traceries and signs On tiny children nigh too small to stir In great green plains of hazel leaf or vines. She taught the trouble of the nightingale; Revealed the velvet seeret of the rose; She breathed divinity into his heart, That rare divinity of watching those Slow growths that make a nettle learn to dart The puny poison of its little throes. Her miracles of motion, butterflies, Rubies and sapphires skimming lily-crests, Carved on a yellow petal with their eyes Tranced by the beauty of their powdered breasts, Seen in the mirror of a drop of dew, He loved as friends and as a friend he knew. The dust of gold and scarlet underwings More precious was to him than nuggets torn From all invaded treasure-crypts of time, And every floating, painted, silver beam Drew him to roses where it stayed to dream, Or down sweet avenues of scented lime. And Nature trained him tenderly to know The rain of melodies in coverts heard. Let him but catch the cadences that flow From hollybush or lilac, elm or sloe, And he would mate the music with the bird. The faintest song a redstart ever sang Was redstart's piping, and the whitethroat knew No cunning trill, no mazy shake that rang Doubtful on ears unaided by the view. But in his glory, as a young pure priest In that great temple, only roofed by stars, An angel hastened from the sacred East To reap the wisest and to leave the least. And as he moaned upon the couch of death, Breathing away his little share of breath, All suddenly he sprang upright in bed! Life, like a ray, poured fresh into his face, Flooding the hollow cheeks with passing grace. He listened long, then pointed up above; Laughed a low laugh of boundless joy and love -- That was a plover called, he softly said, And on his wife's breast fell, serenely dead! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONG OF THE DEMENTED PRIEST by JOHN BERRYMAN HORATIO ALGER (1834-1899) by MADELINE DEFREES ELEGIES FOR THE OCHER DEER ON THE WALLS AT LASCAUX by NORMAN DUBIE IN THE TIME OF FALSE MESSIAHS; CIRCA 1648 by NORMAN DUBIE THE GUARDIAN OF THE RED DISK (SPOKEN BY A CITIZEN OF MALTA - 1300) by EMMA LAZARUS DOMESDAY BOOK: FATHER WHIMSETT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: REV. PERCY FERGUSON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THIS SIDE OF CALVIN by PHYLLIS MCGINLEY WHAT WAS LEFT OVER; FOR SUJATA BHATT by ELEANOR WILNER THE COUNTRY FAITH by NORMAN ROWLAND GALE |
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