“Overheard on a Saltmarsh" Nymph, nymph, what are your beads? Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them? Give them me. No. Give them me. Give them me. No. Then I will howl all night in the reeds, Lie… — Harold Monro Copy Share Image
The public, as a whole, does not demand or appreciate the pure expression of beauty. Its cultured members expect to find in poetry, if anything, repose from material and nervous anxiety; an apt or chiselled phrase strokes the appetites and… — Harold Monro Copy Share Image
“Here is the soundless cypress on the lawn: It listens, listens. Taller trees beyond Listen. The moon at the unruffled pond Stares. And you… — Harold Monro Copy Share Image
What I saw was just one eye In the dawn as I was going: A bird can carry all the sky In that little… — Harold Monro Copy Share Image
“Overheard on a Saltmarsh" Nymph, nymph, what are your beads? Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them? Give them me. No. Give… — Harold Monro Copy Share Image
To the acquisition of the rare quality of politeness, so much of the enlightened understanding is necessary that I cannot but consider every book… — Harold Monro Copy Share Image
The public, as a whole, does not demand or appreciate the pure expression of beauty. Its cultured members expect to find in poetry, if… — Harold Monro Copy Share Image
“The white saucer like some full moon descends At last from the clouds of the table above; She sighs and dreams and thrills and… — Harold Monro Copy Share Image
O gentle vision in the dawn: My spirit over faint cool water glides, Child of the day, To thee; And thou art drawn By… — Harold Monro Copy Share Image
“Do you not feel me near? I'm bending forward on the wind of thought, Sailing toward you on the lake of mind. O share… — Harold Monro Copy Share Image
Cupid has offered his arrows for Jesus to try;He has offered his bow for the game.But Jesus went weeping away, and left him there… — Harold Monro Copy Share Image
The white saucer like some full moon descends / At last from the clouds of the table above. — Harold Monro Copy Share Image
When the tea is brought at five o'clock And all the neat curtains are drawn with care, The little black cat with bright green… — Harold Monro Copy Share Image
