The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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THE ‘RUINS OF DESPAIR’ |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
171
THE ‘RUINS OF DESPAIR’
Yon mouldering wall compos'd of nought but mud(Which has for ages in that manner stood)
Is rightly stil'd the ‘Ruins of Despair’
For nought but wretchedness assembles there
All son[s] of grief and daughters of despair
Within that hut;—but how can life live there?
Thats strange indeed,—while these old walls of mud
(‘Which has for ages in that manner stood’)
Keeps daily mouldering in a lost decay
Leaning on props that want themselves a stay!
Well may those wrankling nettles thrive and grow
So duley water'd with the tears of woe
—Lo on the floor with gulling holes oerspread
Their wretched feet betray a shooles tread:—
The ‘Ruins’ covering nought but loose-laid straw
Which winds blow off and leave a frequent flaw
There snows drive in upon the wretches head
There hasty rains a threatn'd deluge shed
Thrice wretched wretched ‘Ruins of despair’
What griefs are thine.—O ‘how can life live there?’
—A rag-stuft hole,—where bits of Lead remain
Proof of what was,—but now without a pane
A roof unceal'd displays the rafters bare
Here dangling straws and cobwebs dropping there
No white-wash'd walls to pictur'd taste incline
Instead of pictures threatn'd carvings shine
The dismal harth is nothing but a hole
To wood a stranger and the same to coal
Light straw and rubbish make their sorry fires
Kindl'd no quicker than the flame expires
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(Rough seats indeed!)—and closley raing'd around
On these the wretched tribe spend half their days
Dythering and weeping oer the dying blaze
A blaze that does more paint than heat supply
Tingeing their faces with a smoaky dye.—
No shelves no Cubboards no convieneience there
'T'was plan'd in grief and finish'd with despair
They make their shelves and cubboards on the floor
In a dark hole behind the broken door
There an old pitcher broke beyond excuse
(For wants consceald by them is little use)
Stands with the filthy shadow of a pan
Filthy and nausious,—O!—what being—can
Endure!—Grief searching muse give oer
On such a dismal scene essay no more
Stay thy too curious search,—forbear,—forbear,
No more describe the ‘Ruins of Despair!’
| The early poems of John Clare | |