The later poems of John Clare 1837-1864 ... General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
 | I. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SONG
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 1. |
| II. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
| 27. |
| 28. |
| 29. |
| 30. |
| 31. |
| 32. |
 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
197
SONG
[Sweet Susan Chaplin was a maid]
Sweet Susan Chaplin was a maid
That I loved late & early
When down the wheatfield path we strayed
Or 'mong the shocks o' barley
O Susan Chaplin was the maid
That I loved late & early
That I loved late & early
When down the wheatfield path we strayed
Or 'mong the shocks o' barley
O Susan Chaplin was the maid
That I loved late & early
My Kildare's bonny Susan
With her glossy raven hair
Wi'out her theres nae chusing
Or joy or pleasure mair
Sae I loved my bonny Susan
With the glossy raven hair
With her glossy raven hair
Wi'out her theres nae chusing
Or joy or pleasure mair
Sae I loved my bonny Susan
With the glossy raven hair
Thy eyes the mirrors brightness
Or brooks that show the sky
Thy neck the lilys whiteness
Thy lips like rubys lye
A kissing ane anither
She's the diamond in my eye
Or brooks that show the sky
Thy neck the lilys whiteness
Thy lips like rubys lye
A kissing ane anither
She's the diamond in my eye
Her cheeks are like the rosey flower
Then aiblins like the lily
She's gloomy in a lonely hour
Then tricksome as a filly
Of Kildare she's the rosey bower
& syine the snow white Lily
Then aiblins like the lily
She's gloomy in a lonely hour
Then tricksome as a filly
Of Kildare she's the rosey bower
& syine the snow white Lily
198
Sweet Susan is the girl for me
My bright & bonny Susan
She's slender as a poplar tree
My bonny black eyed Susan
There's but ain only chusing
While I'm making love to thee
My bright & bonny Susan
She's slender as a poplar tree
My bonny black eyed Susan
There's but ain only chusing
While I'm making love to thee
| The later poems of John Clare | |