This is a poem of his that is included in The Collected Poems of Harold Monro, as published by T.J. Cobden Sanderson -
Seed-Time Outside Eden
he
Now, while I scatter seed, you wait,
and scare the birds, beside that gate.
The task is hard I have to do:
It is an easy one for you
There in the shade to sit and sing,
and keep those large flocks on the wing.
she
Why are you always busy now?
The grain, the harvest, or the plough
Take all the spirit from your kiss.
Leave sowing. Your glad love I miss.
Or if my singing has become
A cry to scare the birds, I'm dumb.
Do as you must. I will not stay
To help you. I will sleep to-day.
he
Ah! you don't mind about the grain:
So my whole work may be in vain.
I know my duty, and will do
All that I can, in spite of you.
The seed is burning in my hand,
And lusting for the fertile land.
She
Come and lie underneath this tree,
And plant your human seed in me.
Make in my fertile body first
The crop for which my senses thirst.
He
I come to you because you call,
And to your passionate world I fall.
But the whole time we satiate
Our flesh, I fear the after-hate.
She
Fear nothing. Pass your hands along
My body. Hold me. You are strong.
Cast that unfeeling bag of seed
Away. Now satisfy our need.
I hate the interfering wheat.
Oh, there will be enough to eat.
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