 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
AUTUMN MORNING
The storm is heaving up the sky,
The south is dark and dreary
That smiled so bright—as once did I;
But now I'm sad and weary,
Heart-sick of what the world contains,
Its pleasing and its smiling.
Its pay's not half its cost in pains,
For pleasure grows beguiling.
The south is dark and dreary
That smiled so bright—as once did I;
But now I'm sad and weary,
264
Its pleasing and its smiling.
Its pay's not half its cost in pains,
For pleasure grows beguiling.
The old wood heaves a massy wave
Like rivers overflowing,
And now the wind begins to rave
And loud the storm is growing;
So heaved the pleasures of the past
In life's bright crowded morning,
But oh, I long for peace at last,
And trouble gives me warning.
Like rivers overflowing,
And now the wind begins to rave
And loud the storm is growing;
So heaved the pleasures of the past
In life's bright crowded morning,
But oh, I long for peace at last,
And trouble gives me warning.
Heart-sick of every joy and care
That darken and enlighten,
I sink down in my elbow chair—
Oh, when will memory brighten?
The storm has rattled down the wind,
The sun again is dawning,
O God, give me the joy to find
A calm in autumn's morning.
That darken and enlighten,
I sink down in my elbow chair—
Oh, when will memory brighten?
The storm has rattled down the wind,
The sun again is dawning,
O God, give me the joy to find
A calm in autumn's morning.
| The Poems of John Clare | |