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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ON SEEING A LOST GREYHOUND IN WINTER LYING UPON THE SNOW IN THE FIELDS |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
ON SEEING A LOST GREYHOUND IN WINTER LYING UPON THE SNOW IN THE FIELDS
Ah thou poor neglected hound
Now thou'rt done wi' catching hares
Thou mayst lye upon the ground
Lost for what thy master cares
To see thee lye it makes me sigh
A proud hard hearted man
But men we know like dogs may go
When they've done all they can
Now thou'rt done wi' catching hares
Thou mayst lye upon the ground
Lost for what thy master cares
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A proud hard hearted man
But men we know like dogs may go
When they've done all they can
And thus from witnesing thy fate
Thoughtfull reflection wakes
Tho thou'rt a dog (with grief I say't)
Poor men thy fare partakes
Like thee lost whelp the poor mans help
Ere while so much desir'd
Now harvests got is wanted not
Or little is requir'd
Thoughtfull reflection wakes
Tho thou'rt a dog (with grief I say't)
Poor men thy fare partakes
Like thee lost whelp the poor mans help
Ere while so much desir'd
Now harvests got is wanted not
Or little is requir'd
So now the over plus will be
As useles negros all
Turn'd in the bitter blast like thee
Meer cumber grounds to fall
But this reward for toil so hard
Is sure to meet return
From him whose ear is always near
When the oppressed mourn
As useles negros all
Turn'd in the bitter blast like thee
Meer cumber grounds to fall
But this reward for toil so hard
Is sure to meet return
From him whose ear is always near
When the oppressed mourn
For dogs as men are equally
A link in natures chain
Form'd by the hand that formed me
Which formeth naught in vain
All life contains as't were by chains
From him still perfect are
Nor does he think the meanest link
Unworthy of his Care
A link in natures chain
Form'd by the hand that formed me
Which formeth naught in vain
All life contains as't were by chains
From him still perfect are
Nor does he think the meanest link
Unworthy of his Care
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So let us both on him relye
And he'll for us provide
Find us a shelter warm and drye
With every thing beside
And while fools void of sense deride
My tenderness to thee
I'll take thee home from whence I've come
So rise and gang wi' me
And he'll for us provide
Find us a shelter warm and drye
With every thing beside
And while fools void of sense deride
My tenderness to thee
I'll take thee home from whence I've come
So rise and gang wi' me
Poor patient thing he seems to hear
And know what I have said
He wags his tale and ventures near
And bows his mournful head
Thou'rt welcome—come and tho' thou'rt dumb
Thy silence tells thy pains
So wi' me start to share a part
While I have aught remains
And know what I have said
He wags his tale and ventures near
And bows his mournful head
Thou'rt welcome—come and tho' thou'rt dumb
Thy silence tells thy pains
So wi' me start to share a part
While I have aught remains
| The early poems of John Clare | |