Title: Montana Poet Wins Place in Book of Verse
Topics: Montana, poetry
Date: March 12, 1942
Source: The Western News (Montana). <www.mthspublic.newspapers.com>

Mrs. Jack Swarens recently received from her mother, Bessie K. Monroe, an autographed copy of “The Badge of Honor,” an anthology of verse by contemporary American poets edited and published by Poetry House of New York.

One chapter of the book is devoted to the work of Mrs. Monroe, including a brief biographical sketch and a representative selection of her poetry.

Mrs. Monroe, whose home is at Hamilton, is by vocation a journalist and has acted as editor for the Ravalli Republican, has assisted on the editorial staff of the Western News of Hamilton and is correspondent in her region for the Associated Press.

According to “The Badge of Honor”, “Mrs. Monroe was born in 1888 in Montana, was married at 19 before she completed high school and is the mother of six grown children. Having ranged the forests of Idaho and Montana with her late husband, Mrs. Monroe feels implanted in her an ineradicable love of nature, whose moods she tries to perfect in verse. She is just as closely bound, she thinks, to her newspaper job and to the community of her residence .... Her verse has appeared previously in the Daily Missoulian ...”

Mrs. Monroe has visited here a number of times with her son-in-law and daughter.

Following is a selection from the work of Mrs. Monroe:

Spring Day

Above the hills of Skalhalo.
The March day smiles a-bornin’
The lark, out on the pasture fence.
Thrills out his sweet “Good mornin!”
I sniff the smoke o’ willow wood.
A-burnin’ in the clearin’.
An’ down along the river road.
The swamp grass is a-spearin’.

The sun at noon, shines down to warn
The shepherd dog a-nappin’,
An’ by the swingin’ back yard gate.
The clean-washed clothes are flappin’.
A flock of crows is pesterin’ ‘round,
The plow is turnin’ stubble,
An’ folks are smilin’ when they meet
Fergettin’ winter’s trouble.

Ol’ Sawtooth folds a sunset cloud
Around her jagged head.
The kildeer pipes his two-note call
That says the day is dead;
But twilight lingers, makes the dark
Hang back fer quite a spell,
Till lamplit winders blink their eyes
To say that all is well.