The children eat and wriggle and laugh,The two old ladies stroke their silk;But the cat is grown small and thin with desire,Transformed to a creeping lust for milk.
"Milk for the Cat", line 17, from Alida Monro (ed.) Collected Poems (London: Duckworth,  1970) p. 163.
O cool glad pasture; living tree, tall corn,Great cliff, or languid sloping sand, cold sea,Waves: river curving; you, eternal flowers,Give me content, while I can think of you:Give me your living breath!Back to your rampart, Death!Harold Monro
Cupid has offered his arrows for Jesus to try;He has offered his bow for the game.But Jesus went weeping away, and left him there wondering why.Harold Monro
His poetry, as a whole, is more nearly the real right thing than any of the poetry of a somewhat older generation than mine except Mr. Yeats's.Harold Monro