This Peach Is Pink With Such A Pink – Norman Rowland Gale

This peach is pink with such a pink 
As suits the peach divinely; 
The cunning colour rarely spread 
Fades to the yellow finely; 
But where to spy the truest pink 
Is in my Love’s soft cheek, I think. 

The snowdrop, child of windy March, 
Doth glory in her whiteness; 
Her golden neighbours, crocuses, 
Unenvious praise her brightness! 
But I do know where, out of sight, 
My sweetheart keeps a warmer white. 

The First Kiss – Norman Rowland Gale

On Helen’s heart the day were night!
But I may not adventure there:
Here breast is guarded by a right,
And she is true as fair.

And though in happy days her eyes
The glow within mine own could please,
She’s purer than the babe who cries
For empire on her knees.

Her love is for her lord and child,
And unto them belongs her snow;
But none can rob me of her wild
Young kiss of long ago!

The First Kiss – Norman Rowland Gale

On Helen’s heart the day were night!
But I may not adventure there:
Here breast is guarded by a right,
And she is true as fair.

And though in happy days her eyes
The glow within mine own could please,
She’s purer than the babe who cries
For empire on her knees.

Her love is for her lord and child,
And unto them belongs her snow;
But none can rob me of her wild
Young kiss of long ago!