 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
BEAUTY
Beauty is nothing but the power
Which the admirer gives,
The shadow of the fading flower
That in the fancy lives.
Which the admirer gives,
The shadow of the fading flower
That in the fancy lives.
A sun it is of feeble kind,
Tho' bright its little reign,
Yet if a cloud doth cross the mind
All is put out again.
Tho' bright its little reign,
Yet if a cloud doth cross the mind
All is put out again.
The daisy comes at early spring
To win our first esteem,
Summers their blushing roses bring
To wake a sweeter dream;
To win our first esteem,
Summers their blushing roses bring
To wake a sweeter dream;
And then comes autumn's painted reign,
With winter in her way:
Thus ere we know the joys we gain
From beauty, they decay.
With winter in her way:
Thus ere we know the joys we gain
From beauty, they decay.
| The Poems of John Clare | |