 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
333
BALLAD
[If love be such a wilderness]
If love be such a wilderness
So full of ills & pains & fate
Where to pass through is sure distress
As wailing doleful drones relate
Why should I to such dangers grow
While there are safer roads to go
So full of ills & pains & fate
Where to pass through is sure distress
As wailing doleful drones relate
Why should I to such dangers grow
While there are safer roads to go
But well I wot the pains & ills
That sighing lovers do reveal
Are fashioned most by their own wills
& as they fancy so they feel
If they must mourn 'cause one says “no”
Themselves alone do will it so
That sighing lovers do reveal
Are fashioned most by their own wills
& as they fancy so they feel
If they must mourn 'cause one says “no”
Themselves alone do will it so
A maidens frown is not my fate
My heart for hers I'll freely give
But if for love she offers hate
I'll keep my own & rather live
Fool should I be to pain endure
Which frowns can make & smiles can cure
My heart for hers I'll freely give
But if for love she offers hate
I'll keep my own & rather live
Fool should I be to pain endure
Which frowns can make & smiles can cure
If I ask one that answers “no”
Am I to end my hopes therebye
She cannot make all wills think so
Then prythee tell me why should I
If she says “no” the next I wis
When met as ready may say “yes”
Am I to end my hopes therebye
She cannot make all wills think so
Then prythee tell me why should I
If she says “no” the next I wis
When met as ready may say “yes”
Let lovers fancy what they list
I'll but admire it for its joys
Nor sigh & grieve as beauty wist
Like restless childern after toys
For why should I in trouble run
Which I by heeding not may shun
I'll but admire it for its joys
Nor sigh & grieve as beauty wist
Like restless childern after toys
For why should I in trouble run
Which I by heeding not may shun
That love which youth sets out to seek
As eager as the brook doth run
Is not sown on a painted cheek
Where at fools tamper & are won
But wisdom speeds till these be past
& finds it in the heart at last
As eager as the brook doth run
Is not sown on a painted cheek
Where at fools tamper & are won
But wisdom speeds till these be past
& finds it in the heart at last
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |