The later poems of John Clare 1837-1864 ... General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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| NORTHAMPTON MANUSCRIPT 9 |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
247
NORTHAMPTON MANUSCRIPT 9
SONG
[The meadows fill with cowslips]
The meadows fill with cowslips
The grass excessive green
Down oer the splashy slough dips
Where the Wagtail birds are seen
I walked there i' the morning
When awoke the early Bee
I went at evens dawning
For the Rose of Broomilea
The grass excessive green
Down oer the splashy slough dips
Where the Wagtail birds are seen
I walked there i' the morning
When awoke the early Bee
I went at evens dawning
For the Rose of Broomilea
Sweet Rose of Broomilea
How it scents the evening gale
Where sings the early Bee
While the other flowers turn pale
The silver daiseys there
Like easter white they be
But nothing upon earth's more fair
Then the Rose of Broomilea
How it scents the evening gale
Where sings the early Bee
While the other flowers turn pale
The silver daiseys there
Like easter white they be
But nothing upon earth's more fair
Then the Rose of Broomilea
How lily white her budding breast
Her eyes soft shade o' blue
The lovely Iris o' the west
Owns not a brighter hue
The emerald meadows oft I pass
When daylight shuts his e'e
& dewpearls hang each blade o' grass
For the Rose o' Broomilea
Her eyes soft shade o' blue
The lovely Iris o' the west
Owns not a brighter hue
248
When daylight shuts his e'e
& dewpearls hang each blade o' grass
For the Rose o' Broomilea
Like a white Lamp the evening Star
Shines oer the glimmering stream
When I return from courting her
Oer whom I fondly dream
Shine on thou mild bright evening light
Shine on oer lake & tree
While I am blest beneath thy sight
Wi' the Rose o' Broomilea
Shines oer the glimmering stream
When I return from courting her
Oer whom I fondly dream
Shine on thou mild bright evening light
Shine on oer lake & tree
While I am blest beneath thy sight
Wi' the Rose o' Broomilea
MR SONG BLLUDS
I'll come to thee at even tide
When the west is streaked wi grey
I'll wish the night thy charms to hide
& daylight all away
I'll come to thee at set o' sun
Where white thorns i' the May
I'll come to thee when work is done
& love thee till the day
When the west is streaked wi grey
I'll wish the night thy charms to hide
& daylight all away
I'll come to thee at set o' sun
Where white thorns i' the May
I'll come to thee when work is done
& love thee till the day
When Daisey stars are all turned green
& all is meadow grass
I'll wander down the bank at e'en
& court the bonny Lass
The green banks & the rustleing sedge
I'll wander down at e'en
All slopeing to the waters edge
& in the water green
& all is meadow grass
I'll wander down the bank at e'en
& court the bonny Lass
249
I'll wander down at e'en
All slopeing to the waters edge
& in the water green
& theres the luscious meadow sweet
Beside the meadow drain
My lassie there I once did meet
Who I wish to meet again
The water lilies where in flower
The yellow & the white
I met her there at even's hour
& stood for half the night
Beside the meadow drain
My lassie there I once did meet
Who I wish to meet again
The water lilies where in flower
The yellow & the white
I met her there at even's hour
& stood for half the night
We stood & loved in that green place
When sundays sun got low
Its beams reflected in her face
The fairest thing below
My sweet Ann Foot my bonny Ann
The Meadow banks are green
Meet me at even when you can
Be mine as you have been
When sundays sun got low
Its beams reflected in her face
The fairest thing below
My sweet Ann Foot my bonny Ann
The Meadow banks are green
Meet me at even when you can
Be mine as you have been
250
[Is nothing less then naught—nothing is nought]
Is nothing less then naught—nothing is nought& there is nothing less—but somthing is
Though next to nothing—that a Trifle seems
& such am I—yet Man no trifle is
Born an immortal Soul that cannot die
To Nothing—nor yet be nothing
That Soul is Man—born not of the Dust
Nor yet to dust returns—but born of God
Eternal as his Sire—living for ever
An immortal Soul
[Spring comes & it is may—white as are sheets]
Spring comes & it is may—white as are sheets
Each orchard shines besides its little town
Childern at every bush a poesy meets
Bluebells & primroses—wandering up & down
To hunt birds nests & flowers & a stones throw from town
& hear the blackbird in the coppice sing
Green spots appear like doubling a book down
To find the place agen & strange birds sing
We have [no] name for in the burst of Spring
Each orchard shines besides its little town
Childern at every bush a poesy meets
Bluebells & primroses—wandering up & down
To hunt birds nests & flowers & a stones throw from town
& hear the blackbird in the coppice sing
Green spots appear like doubling a book down
To find the place agen & strange birds sing
We have [no] name for in the burst of Spring
251
The Sparrow comes & chelps about the Slates
& pops in to her hole beneath the Eaves
While the cock piegon amourously awaits
The Hen on barn ridge cooing & then leaves
With crop all ruffles—where the sower heaves
The hopper at his side his beans to sow
There he with timid coveys harmless thieves
& whirls around the teams & then drops low—
While plops the sudden Gun & great the overthrow
& pops in to her hole beneath the Eaves
While the cock piegon amourously awaits
The Hen on barn ridge cooing & then leaves
With crop all ruffles—where the sower heaves
The hopper at his side his beans to sow
There he with timid coveys harmless thieves
& whirls around the teams & then drops low—
While plops the sudden Gun & great the overthrow
| The later poems of John Clare | |