 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
APPROACHING NIGHT
Oh, take this world away from me!Its strife I cannot bear to see,
Its very praises hurt me more
Than e'en its coldness did before,
Its hollow ways torment me now
And start a cold sweat on my brow,
Its noise I cannot bear to hear,
Its joy is trouble to my ear,
Its ways I cannot bear to see,
Its crowds are solitudes to me.
Oh, how I long to be agen
That poor and independent man,
With labour's lot from morn to night
And books to read at candle-light;
That followed labour in the field
From light to dark when toil could yield
Real happiness with little gain,
Rich thoughtless health unknown to pain:
Though leaning on my spade to rest,
I've thought how richer folks were blest
And knew not quiet was the best.
| The Poems of John Clare | |