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|
|22.||Child Of Dawn||1/1/2004|
|23.||The Bird At Dawn||4/21/2010|
|25.||Overheard On A Salmarsh||4/21/2010|
|26.||Milk For The Cat||4/21/2010|
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 ...
Since man has been articulate,
Mechanical, improvidently wise,
(Servant of Fate),
He has not understood the little cries
And foreign conversations of the small
Delightful creatures that have followed him
Not far behind;
Has failed to hear the sympathetic call
Of Crockery and Cutlery, those kind