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 in the mud and howl for them.Goblin, why do you love them so?They are better than stars or water,Better than voices of winds that sing,Better than any man's fair daughter,Your green glass beads on a silver ring.Hush, I stole them out of the moon.Give me your beads, I desire them.No.I will howl in a deep lagoonFor your green glass beads, I love them so.Give them me. Give them.
No.
—Harold Monro
3 comments:
Hi
I love your blog.
Best regards from Jakarta Indonesia
I first read this poem in the book Silver Pennies - my mom gave me this book, which her mom bought her with a little money she got when her mother (my great grandmother) died. I love this book of poems - and all the poems in them give me warm fuzzies, because they've come down to me from so many years.
(This is actually Thora, not her husband, but I'm too lazy to switch accounts).
Oh, also by the way, we had a little sad episode with lice, but following your super-de-duper lice entry, we nipped them in the bud (also, my friend, who's the one who gave it to me, who left a comment on the entry very recently, followed your method on my advice). Thanks for saving our hair (this was after I cut my hair though - that's not why I cut all my hair off).
I loved this! Thanks Jami!
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