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.
Harold Monro's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Real Property by Harold Monro )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- What is superior?, gajanan mishra
- Mind, Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- WE ARE TEMPORARILY HERE, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Waxing Grandiloquent, Margaret Alice Second
- When The Evening Light Comes, Pijush Biswas
- Hindi haiku (56-60), S.D. TIWARI
- Retirement (or) Till Your Last, Natarajan Ramaseshan
- An illicit dream....., PARTHA SARATHI PAUL
- The House Across Our Road, Kuda Bondamakara
- sadism, Gangadharan nair Pulingat..