William Henry Ogilvie

Here you will find the Poem Hounds! of poet William Henry Ogilvie


There is music on disc and on wireless, 
Band-music, dance-tunes for the tireless, 
Sweet music from day unto day; 
But the music a man will remember 
Shakes down the last leaves of November, 
And speeds the wild geese in December, 
And greets the first oak-bud in May.
What string with such beauty can tremble? 
What bugle such raptures assemble? 
What trumpet can sound such a call? 
Is there ever a melody nearer 
The quick-beating heart of the hearer? 
Is there ever a tune that is dearer 
As it chooses a dance for us all? 
No song is so sweet in the setting, 
No lilt so forbids all forgetting 
Or lingers so long by the way; 
When the shadows of night gather o?er us, 
And the scarlet has faded before us, 
The ring of that ravishing chorus 
Dies not with the death of the day.