Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO A WHITETHROAT, by NORMAN ROWLAND GALE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO A WHITETHROAT, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: If thou but pipe I will a pilgrim be
Last Line: The gentle exclamation of the dove.
Subject(s): Birds; Solitude; Walking; Loneliness


IF thou but pipe I will a pilgrim be
Along the outskirt bushes of the wood:
Fly forward, Whitethroat, searching still for me
Some leafy shrine of utter quietude:
There stay awhile and sing,
Upon me fling
The ditties of the woodland that I love;
And mingling with thy song
Sometimes may float along
The soft ejaculation of the dove.

For, Whitethroat, all the loved of Long Ago
Have vanished sleepward far and far away,
And in the churchyard yonder do but grow
To finer dust—God rest them!—day by day.
So stay awhile and sing,
Upon me fling
The ditties of the woodland that I love;
And call to join the song
From out this beechen throng
The deep-toned consolation of the dove.

The pomp of vast cathedrals cannot easc
The grief within me that will not be still.
Help, natural magic of the forest trees!
Help, green enchantment of the sloping hill!
And thou, my Whitethroat, sing,
Upon me fling
The ditties of the woodland that I love;
And may there speed along
In union with thy song
The mellower reflection of the dove.

The Priest has spoken, and I am not healed.
The organ pleaded, and my heart was cold.
Where is God's widest blessing? In the weald,
Beside the sheepcotes and upon the wold.
Wherefore, my Whitethroat, sing,
Upon me fling
The ditties of the woodland that I love;
And call from out this throng
Of trees to swell thy song
The gentle exclamation of the dove.





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