Overheard On A Saltmarsh

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  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 want them. No. I will howl in the deep lagoon For your green glass beads, I love them so. Give them me. Give them. No. - Harold Monro (1879 - 1932)

"Troubadour" by John Michael Talbot

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In raiment coarse and rough endued
A cord his only ceinture rude
With scanty measure for his food
His feet withal unshod

For the poverty of Christ he yearns
From earthly splendor he dost turn
This noble troubadour has spurned
Despising all for God

Within a mountain cave alone
He hides to weep and lying prone
He prays aloud with sigh and groan
For peace to fill his heart

New signs of highest sanctity
Singing praise exceedingly
Beautiful and wondrous to see
The troubadour to sing
The troubadour of the Great King

Then seraph-like in heaven’s height
The King of Kings appears in sight
His soul in passion’s awesome night
Beholds the vision dread

For it bears the wounds of Christ and lo
While gazing on a speechless woe
The hidden marks upon his soul
Now wound his flesh blood red

His body now like the Crucified
Signed on hands and feet and side
Transformed in life to love and die
With Jesus Christ our Lord

New signs of highest sanctity
Singing praise exceedingly
Beautiful and wondrous to see
The troubadour to sing
The troubadour of the Great King

Within his soul songs secret sound
To silent melodies abound
Caught up to God this singer found
His song and he understood 

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