Harold Monro Poems
|6.||The Silent Pool||4/23/2012|
|11.||Man Carrying Bale||4/21/2010|
|13.||The Nightingale Near The House||4/21/2010|
|15.||Children Of Love||4/21/2010|
|16.||Two Poems: (Numbers I And X In 'strange Meetings.')||4/21/2010|
|19.||Youth In Arms||4/21/2010|
|20.||The Rebellious Vine||4/21/2010|
|21.||The Bird At Dawn||4/21/2010|
|23.||Child Of Dawn||1/1/2004|
|26.||Milk For The Cat||4/21/2010|
|27.||Overheard On A Salmarsh||4/21/2010|
Comments about Harold Monro
Overheard On A Salmarsh
Nymph, nymph, what are your beads?
Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them?
Give them me.
Give them me. Give them me.
Then I will howl all night in the reeds,
Lie in the mud and howl for them.
Goblin, why do you love them so?
They are better than stars or water,
Better than voices of winds that sing,
Better than any man's fair daughter,
Your green glass beads on a silver ring.
Hush, I stole them out of the moon.
Give me your beads, I want them.
I will howl in the deep lagoon
For your green glass beads, I ...
You little friend, your nose is ready; you sniff,
Asking for that expected walk,
(Your nostrils full of the happy rabbit-whiff)
And almost talk.
And so the moment becomes a moving force;
Coats glide down from their pegs in the humble dark;
The sticks grow live to the stride of their vagrant course.
You scamper the stairs,