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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EVENING |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
EVENING
The cool of evening is the hour of heaven
The time earth holds communion with the sky
When angels thoughts to evening walks are given
And wispering in the hedges round us lie
Like heaven talking in our infancy
One sweet soft cupola appears the clouds
Purple and rose and gold far west doth lie
May blossoms on the hedges sleep in crowds
And evening rests in days retiring shrouds
The time earth holds communion with the sky
When angels thoughts to evening walks are given
And wispering in the hedges round us lie
Like heaven talking in our infancy
One sweet soft cupola appears the clouds
Purple and rose and gold far west doth lie
May blossoms on the hedges sleep in crowds
And evening rests in days retiring shrouds
Days restorative toils repose the hour
When infants cradle on the mothers breast
Like roses in the dews yet half in flower
While day yet lingers in the golden west
Beasts to their sheds, the small birds to their nest,
Clouds to the trees, dews to the flowers are given
The dews like cordials fall on toil and rest
The dog-rose glistens wi' the dews of even
And peace reposes in the midst of heaven
When infants cradle on the mothers breast
Like roses in the dews yet half in flower
While day yet lingers in the golden west
Beasts to their sheds, the small birds to their nest,
284
The dews like cordials fall on toil and rest
The dog-rose glistens wi' the dews of even
And peace reposes in the midst of heaven
It is the hour the lover meets his heart
At least the maid who keeps it in her breast
It is the hour that lovers will impart
Their heart's own secret 'ere the hour of rest
It is the hour the social life likes best
When neighbours, children, wife and husband meet
The hour when blessings they are doubly bless't
The hour when dews are brushed by lovers feet
The soft still hour when lov'd and happy meet
At least the maid who keeps it in her breast
It is the hour that lovers will impart
Their heart's own secret 'ere the hour of rest
It is the hour the social life likes best
When neighbours, children, wife and husband meet
The hour when blessings they are doubly bless't
The hour when dews are brushed by lovers feet
The soft still hour when lov'd and happy meet
| The later poems of John Clare | |