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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| a. | WHAT IS LIFE? (a)
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
WHAT IS LIFE? (a)
& what is Life?—an hour glass on the run
A mist retreating from the morning sun
A busy bustling still repeated dream
—Its Length?—A minutes pause—a moments thought
& happines?—A Bubble on the stream
That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought—
A mist retreating from the morning sun
A busy bustling still repeated dream
—Its Length?—A minutes pause—a moments thought
& happines?—A Bubble on the stream
That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought—
Vain hopes what are they?—Puffing gales of morn
That of its charms divests the dewy lawn
& robs each flowret of its gem—& dies
A Cobweb hiding dissapointments thorn
Which stings more keener thro the thin disguise
—& thou o Trouble—nothing can suppose
(& sure the power of wisdom only knows)
—What need requireth thee
So free & liberal as thy bounty flows
Some nessesary cause must surely be
—But dissapointments pains & every woe
Adopted wretches feeld
The universal plagues of life below
Fate hides them all—& keeps their cause consceald
That of its charms divests the dewy lawn
& robs each flowret of its gem—& dies
A Cobweb hiding dissapointments thorn
Which stings more keener thro the thin disguise
393
(& sure the power of wisdom only knows)
—What need requireth thee
So free & liberal as thy bounty flows
Some nessesary cause must surely be
—But dissapointments pains & every woe
Adopted wretches feeld
The universal plagues of life below
Fate hides them all—& keeps their cause consceald
& what is death?—Is still the cause unfound
That dark mysterious name of horrid sound
—A long & lingering Sleep the weary crave—
& peace!—Where can its happines abound
No where at all But heaven & the—Grave
Then what is Life?—When stript of its disguise
A thing to be desir'd it cannot be
Since every thing that meets our foolish eye
Gives proof sufficient of its vanity—
Tis but a trial all must undergo
To learn unthankful mortals how to prize
That happiness vain mans deny'd to know
Untill he's call'd to claim it in the skyes
That dark mysterious name of horrid sound
—A long & lingering Sleep the weary crave—
& peace!—Where can its happines abound
No where at all But heaven & the—Grave
Then what is Life?—When stript of its disguise
A thing to be desir'd it cannot be
Since every thing that meets our foolish eye
Gives proof sufficient of its vanity—
Tis but a trial all must undergo
To learn unthankful mortals how to prize
That happiness vain mans deny'd to know
Untill he's call'd to claim it in the skyes
| The early poems of John Clare | |