 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
DISTANT HILLS
What is there in those distant hills
My fancy longs to see,
That many a mood of joy instils?
Say, what can fancy be?
My fancy longs to see,
That many a mood of joy instils?
Say, what can fancy be?
Do old oaks thicken all the woods,
With weeds and brakes as here?
Does common water make the floods,
That's common everywhere?
With weeds and brakes as here?
Does common water make the floods,
That's common everywhere?
Is grass the green that clothes the ground?
Are springs the common springs?
Daisies and cowslips dropping round,
Are such the flowers she brings?
Are springs the common springs?
Daisies and cowslips dropping round,
Are such the flowers she brings?
Their brooms are they [the] yellow broom,
Their briers the smelling brier?
Questions from fancy seldom come
But such are everywhere.
Their briers the smelling brier?
Questions from fancy seldom come
But such are everywhere.
Does day come with its common sky
That's seen both near and far?
Does night the selfsame moon supply
With many a little star?
That's seen both near and far?
Does night the selfsame moon supply
With many a little star?
Are cottages of mud and stone,
By valley, wood, and glen,
And their calm dwellers little known
Men, and but common men,
By valley, wood, and glen,
And their calm dwellers little known
Men, and but common men,
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That drive afield with carts and ploughs?
Such men are common here,
And pastoral maidens milking cows
Are dwelling everywhere.
Such men are common here,
And pastoral maidens milking cows
Are dwelling everywhere.
If so my fancy idly clings
To notions far away,
And longs to roam for common things
All round her every day,
To notions far away,
And longs to roam for common things
All round her every day,
Right idle would the journey be
To leave one's home so far,
And see the moon I now can see
And every little star.
To leave one's home so far,
And see the moon I now can see
And every little star.
And have they there a night and day,
And common counted hours?
And do they see so far away
This very moon of ours?
And common counted hours?
And do they see so far away
This very moon of ours?
I mark him climb above the trees
With one small cousin star,
And think me in my reveries—
He cannot shine so far.
With one small cousin star,
And think me in my reveries—
He cannot shine so far.
And o'er his face that ancient man
Will ever stooping be;
What else he in no sort of plan
Could ever get to see.
Will ever stooping be;
What else he in no sort of plan
Could ever get to see.
The poets in the tales they tell
And with their happy powers
Have made lands where their fancies dwell
Seem better lands than ours.
And with their happy powers
Have made lands where their fancies dwell
Seem better lands than ours.
Their storied woods and vales and streams
Grow up within the mind
Like beauty seen in pleasant dreams
We nowhere else can find.
Grow up within the mind
Like beauty seen in pleasant dreams
We nowhere else can find.
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Yet common things, no matter what,
Which nature dignifies,
If happiness be in their lot,
They gratify our eyes.
Which nature dignifies,
If happiness be in their lot,
They gratify our eyes.
Some value things from being new,
Yet nature keeps the old;
She watches o'er the humblest too
In blessings manifold.
Yet nature keeps the old;
She watches o'er the humblest too
In blessings manifold.
The common things of every day,
However mean and small,
The heedless eye may throw away,
But she esteems them all.
However mean and small,
The heedless eye may throw away,
But she esteems them all.
The common things in every place
Display their sweets abroad,
The daisy shows a happy face
On every common sward.
Display their sweets abroad,
The daisy shows a happy face
On every common sward.
Why need I sigh far hills to see
If grass is their array,
While here the little paths go through
The greenest every day?
If grass is their array,
While here the little paths go through
The greenest every day?
Such fancies fill the restless mind,
At once to cheat and cheer
With thought and semblance undefined,
Nowhere and everywhere.
At once to cheat and cheer
With thought and semblance undefined,
Nowhere and everywhere.
| The Poems of John Clare | |