Real Property
Harold Monro 1879 (Brussels) – 1932
Tell me about that harvest field.
Oh! Fifty acres of living bread.
The colour has painted itself in my heart;
The form is patterned in my head.
So now I take it everywhere,
See it whenever I look round;
Hear it growing through every sound,
Know exactly the sound it makes —
Remembering, as one must all day,
Under the pavement the live earth aches.
Trees are at the farther end,
Limes all full of the mumbling bee:
So there must be a harvest field
Whenever one thinks of a linden tree.
A hedge is about it, very tall,
Hazy and cool, and breathing sweet.
Round paradise is such a wall,
And all the day, in such a way,
In paradise the wild birds call.
You only need to close your eyes
And go within your secret mind,
And you'll be into paradise:
I've learnt quite easily to find
Some linden trees and drowsy bees,
A tall sweet hedge with the corn behind.
I will not have that harvest mown:
I'll keep the corn and leave the bread.
I've bought that field; it's now my own:
I've fifty acres in my head.
I take it as a dream to bed.
I carry it about all day....
Sometimes when I have found a friend
I give a blade of corn away.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 1:08 min read
- 107 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABXB XCCDED FGAG HXHEH XIXIXI JBJBBE FE |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 1,099 |
Words | 222 |
Stanzas | 7 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 6, 4, 5, 6, 6, 2 |
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"Real Property" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 10 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/16857/real-property>.
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