Harold Monro (14 March 1879 - 16 March 1932 / Brussels)
Poems of Harold Monro
|1.||Child of Dawn||1/1/2004|
|2.||Children Of Love||4/21/2010|
|11.||Man Carrying Bale||4/21/2010|
|13.||Milk For The Cat||4/21/2010|
|14.||Overheard on a Salmarsh||4/21/2010|
|18.||The Bird at Dawn||4/21/2010|
|19.||The Nightingale Near The House||4/21/2010|
|20.||The Rebellious Vine||4/21/2010|
It is the sacred hour: above the far
Low emerald hills that northward fold,
Calmly, upon the blue the evening star
Floats, wreathed in dusky gold.
The winds have sung all day; but now they lie
Faint, sleeping; and the evening sounds awake.
The slow bell tolls across the water: I
Am haunted by the spirit of the lake.
It seems as though the sounding of the bell