Who is Harold Edward Monro

Harold Edward Monro (14 March 1879 – 16 March 1932) was an English poet born in Brussels, Belgium. As the proprietor of the Poetry Bookshop in London, he helped many poets to bring their work before the public.

Life and career

Monro was born at 137 chaussée de Charleroi, Saint-Gilles/St Gillis, Brussels, on 14 March 1879, as the youngest of three surviving children of Edward William Monro (1848–1889), civil engineer, and his wife and first cousin, Arabel Sophia (1849–1926), daughter of Peter John Margary, also a civil engineer. Monro's father was born at Marylebone and died aged 41 when Monro was only nine years old. This loss may have influenced his character as a poet. The Monro family was well established in Bloomsbury. His paternal grandfather, Dr Henry ...
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Harold Edward Monro Poems

  • The Nightingale Near The House
    Here is the soundless cypress on the lawn:
    It listens, listens. Taller trees beyond
    Listen. The moon at the unruffled pond
    Stares. And you sing, you sing. ...
  • Week-end
    I

    The train! The twelve o'clock for paradise.
    Hurry, or it will try to creep away. ...
  • Solitude
    When you have tidied all things for the night,
    And while your thoughts are fading to their sleep,
    You'll pause a moment in the late firelight,
    Too sorrowful to weep. ...
  • Children Of Love
    The holy boy
    Went from his mother out in the cool of the day
    Over the sun-parched fields
    And in among the olives shining green and shining grey. ...
  • Goldfish
    They are the angels of that watery world,
    With so much knowledge that they just aspire
    To move themselves on golden fins,
    Or fill their paradise with fire ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Harold Edward Monro

Suddenly 6 Mind 6 Head 6 Gentle 6 Earth 6 Delight 5 White 5 Cool 5 Body 5 Talk 5


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Poem of the day

Ernest Dowson Poem
Vain Hope
 by Ernest Dowson

Sometimes, to solace my sad heart, I say,
Though late it be, though lily-time be past,
Though all the summer skies be overcast,
Haply I will go down to her, some day,
And cast my rests of life before her feet,
That she may have her will of me, being so sweet
And none gainsay!

...

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