The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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THE FOUNTAIN |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
349
THE FOUNTAIN
Her dusky mantle Eve had 'spread
The west sky glowr'd wi' copper red
'Sun bid ‘good night’ & slove to bed
'Hind black clouds mimick'd mountain
When weary from my toil I sped
To seek the purlin' fountain
The west sky glowr'd wi' copper red
'Sun bid ‘good night’ & slove to bed
'Hind black clouds mimick'd mountain
When weary from my toil I sped
To seek the purlin' fountain
Labour e'en 'gen it up fo' good
Save swains their folds that beetling stood
While Echo listning i' the wood
Each knock kept 'stinctly counting
The moon just peep'd her horned hood
Faint glimmering i' the fountain
Save swains their folds that beetling stood
While Echo listning i' the wood
Each knock kept 'stinctly counting
The moon just peep'd her horned hood
Faint glimmering i' the fountain
350
Ye gently dimpled curling streams
Rilling as smooth as summer dreams
Ill-pair'd to thine lifes current seems
When hope—rude cataracts mounting
Bursts cheated into vain extreems
Far from thy peacefull fountain
Rilling as smooth as summer dreams
Ill-pair'd to thine lifes current seems
When hope—rude cataracts mounting
Bursts cheated into vain extreems
Far from thy peacefull fountain
I'd just streak'd down & wi' a swish
Wang'd off my hat (soak'd like a fish)
When 'bove what thought cou'd think or wish
(Fo' chance theres no accounting)
A sweet lass came wi' wooden dish
& dipt it i' the fountain
Wang'd off my hat (soak'd like a fish)
When 'bove what thought cou'd think or wish
(Fo' chance theres no accounting)
A sweet lass came wi' wooden dish
& dipt it i' the fountain
I've often found a rural charm
In pastoral song my heart to warm
But faith her beauties gave alarm
'Bove all I'd seen surmounting
& when to th'spring she streach'd her arm
My heart chill'd i' the fountain
In pastoral song my heart to warm
But faith her beauties gave alarm
'Bove all I'd seen surmounting
& when to th'spring she streach'd her arm
My heart chill'd i' the fountain
Simple, 'witching, artless maid
So modestly she offer'd aid
‘& will you please to drink?’ she said
—My pulse beat bye the counting
O Innoscence such charms display'd
I cant forget the Fountain
So modestly she offer'd aid
‘& will you please to drink?’ she said
—My pulse beat bye the counting
O Innoscence such charms display'd
I cant forget the Fountain
351
Ere lonely home she 'gan proceed
I said—whats secresy indeed!
& offer'd company as need
The moon was highly mounting
& still her charms—(I'd scorn the deed)
Wer' pure as was the fountain
I said—whats secresy indeed!
& offer'd company as need
The moon was highly mounting
& still her charms—(I'd scorn the deed)
Wer' pure as was the fountain
Ye leaning palms that seem to look
Pleas'd oer your Image i' the brook
Ye ashes harbouring pye & nook
Your shady boughs be mounting
Ye Muses leave Castalias nook
& sacred make the fountain
Pleas'd oer your Image i' the brook
Ye ashes harbouring pye & nook
Your shady boughs be mounting
Ye Muses leave Castalias nook
& sacred make the fountain
| The early poems of John Clare | |