 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
WITH GARMENTS FLOWING
Come, come, my love, the bush is growing,
The linnet sings the tune again
He sung when thou with garments flowing
Went talking with me down the lane,
Dreaming of beauty ere I found thee,
And musing by the bushes green;
The wind, enamoured, streaming round thee
Painted the visions I had seen.
The linnet sings the tune again
He sung when thou with garments flowing
Went talking with me down the lane,
Dreaming of beauty ere I found thee,
And musing by the bushes green;
The wind, enamoured, streaming round thee
Painted the visions I had seen.
I guessed thy face without the knowing
Was beautiful as e'er was seen;
I thought so by thy garments flowing
And gait as airy as a queen;
Thy shape, thy size, could not deceive me;
Beauty seemed hid in every limb;
And then thy face, when seen, believe me,
Made every former fancy dim.
Was beautiful as e'er was seen;
I thought so by thy garments flowing
And gait as airy as a queen;
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Beauty seemed hid in every limb;
And then thy face, when seen, believe me,
Made every former fancy dim.
Yes, when thy face in beauty brightened
The music of a voice divine,
Upon my heart thy sweetness lightened;
Life, love, that moment, all were thine;
All I imagined musing lonely,
When dreaming 'neath the greenwood tree,
Seeming to fancy visions only,
Breathed living when I met with thee.
The music of a voice divine,
Upon my heart thy sweetness lightened;
Life, love, that moment, all were thine;
All I imagined musing lonely,
When dreaming 'neath the greenwood tree,
Seeming to fancy visions only,
Breathed living when I met with thee.
I wander oft, not to forget thee
But just to feel those joys again,
When by the hawbush stile I met thee
And heard thy voice adown the lane
Return me its good-humoured greeting;
And oh, what music met my ear!
And then thy looks of wonder meeting,
To see me come and talk so near!
But just to feel those joys again,
When by the hawbush stile I met thee
And heard thy voice adown the lane
Return me its good-humoured greeting;
And oh, what music met my ear!
And then thy looks of wonder meeting,
To see me come and talk so near!
Thy face that held no sort of scorning,
Thy careless jump to reach the may;
That bush—I saw it many a morning
And hoped to meet thee many a day;
Till winter came and stripped the bushes,
The thistle withered on the moors,
Hopes sighed like winds along the rushes—
I could not meet thee out of doors.
Thy careless jump to reach the may;
That bush—I saw it many a morning
And hoped to meet thee many a day;
Till winter came and stripped the bushes,
The thistle withered on the moors,
Hopes sighed like winds along the rushes—
I could not meet thee out of doors.
But winter's gone and spring is going
And by thy own fireside I've been,
And told thee, dear, with garments flowing
I met thee when the spring was green;
When travellers through snow-deserts rustle,
Far from the strife of humankind,
How little seems the noise and bustle
Of places they have left behind!
And by thy own fireside I've been,
And told thee, dear, with garments flowing
I met thee when the spring was green;
When travellers through snow-deserts rustle,
Far from the strife of humankind,
How little seems the noise and bustle
Of places they have left behind!
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And on that long-remembered morning
When first I lost this heart of mine,
Fame, all I'd hoped for, turned to scorning
And love and hope lived wholly thine;
I told thee, and with rapture glowing
I heard thee more than once declare,
That down the lane with garments flowing
Thou with the spring wouldst wander there.
When first I lost this heart of mine,
Fame, all I'd hoped for, turned to scorning
And love and hope lived wholly thine;
I told thee, and with rapture glowing
I heard thee more than once declare,
That down the lane with garments flowing
Thou with the spring wouldst wander there.
| The Poems of John Clare | |