Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SHAKESPEARE IN THE THRUSH, by NORMAN ROWLAND GALE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SHAKESPEARE IN THE THRUSH, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Who sings so more than passing sweet
Last Line: And gods go large in warwickshire!
Subject(s): Birds; Dramatists; Plays & Playwrights ; Poetry & Poets; Shakespeare, William (1564-1616); Thrushes; Warwickshire, England; Dramatists


WHO sings so more than passing sweet
Within his ample cage of green,
Together mingling natural heat
With what is serious and serene?
It is my Lord the speckled Thrush,
Compelling heart and soul to hear;
And never has a bird for me
So mellowed coppice, bush or tree,
Since first I strayed to Warwickshire!

'Tis not a thrush alone that sings,
But some one adding to the bird
A spirit in exchange for wings
To carry here his lovely word.
Listen the human in the thrush
Above the bird-soul rising clear,
As if this county's Heart of Song
Were beating now divinely strong
In his recovered Warwickshire!

There went a touch of Hamlet! There,
In loops of alto, Beatrice ran
Her lapwing course, as fragrant-fair
As ever maid since time began!
And hark! It wanted but the note
Of her who pressed in fun and fear
By woodland ways for love. The bough
Is bending with immortals now,
And gods go large in Warwickshire!





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