 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
109
AUTUMN
Siren of sullen moods & fading hues
Yet haply not incapable of joy
Sweet autumn I thee hail
With welcome all unfeignd
& oft as morning from her lattice peeps
To beckon up the sun I seek with thee
To drink the dewy breath
Of fields left fragrant then
Yet haply not incapable of joy
Sweet autumn I thee hail
With welcome all unfeignd
& oft as morning from her lattice peeps
To beckon up the sun I seek with thee
To drink the dewy breath
Of fields left fragrant then
To solitudes where no frequented paths
But what thine own feet makes betray thy home
Stealing obtrusive there
To meditate thine end
By overshadowed ponds in woody nooks
With ramping sallows lined & crowding sedge
Who woo the winds to play
& with them dance for joy
But what thine own feet makes betray thy home
Stealing obtrusive there
To meditate thine end
By overshadowed ponds in woody nooks
With ramping sallows lined & crowding sedge
Who woo the winds to play
& with them dance for joy
& meadow pools torn wide by lawless floods
Where water lilies spread their oily leaves
On which as wont the flye
Oft battons in the sun
Where leans the mossy willow half way oer
On which the shepherd crawls astride to throw
His angle clear of weeds
That crowd the waters brim
Where water lilies spread their oily leaves
On which as wont the flye
Oft battons in the sun
Where leans the mossy willow half way oer
On which the shepherd crawls astride to throw
His angle clear of weeds
That crowd the waters brim
Or crispy hills & hollows scant of sward
Where step by step the patient lonely boy
Hath cut rude flights of stairs
To climb their steepy sides
Then tracking at their feet grown hoarse with noise
The crawling brook that ekes its weary speed
& struggles through the weeds
With faint & sullen brawls
Where step by step the patient lonely boy
Hath cut rude flights of stairs
To climb their steepy sides
Then tracking at their feet grown hoarse with noise
The crawling brook that ekes its weary speed
& struggles through the weeds
With faint & sullen brawls
These haunts long favoured but the more as now
With thee thus wandering moralizing on
Stealing glad thoughts from grief
& happy though I sigh
Sweet vision with the wild dishevelled hair
& raiments shadowy of each winds embrace
Fain would I win thine harp
To one accordant theme
With thee thus wandering moralizing on
Stealing glad thoughts from grief
& happy though I sigh
Sweet vision with the wild dishevelled hair
& raiments shadowy of each winds embrace
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To one accordant theme
Now not inaptly craved communing thus
Beneath the curdled arms of this stunt oak
We'll pillow on the grass
& fondly ruminate
Oer the disordered scenes of woods & fields
Ploughed lands thin travelled with half hungry sheep
Pastures tracked deep with cows
Where small birds seek for seeds
Beneath the curdled arms of this stunt oak
We'll pillow on the grass
& fondly ruminate
Oer the disordered scenes of woods & fields
Ploughed lands thin travelled with half hungry sheep
Pastures tracked deep with cows
Where small birds seek for seeds
Marking the cow boy that so merry trills
His frequent unpremeditated song
Wooing the winds to pause
Till echo brawls again
As on with plashy step & clouted shoon
He roves half indolent & self employed
To rob the little birds
Of hips & pendant awes
His frequent unpremeditated song
Wooing the winds to pause
Till echo brawls again
As on with plashy step & clouted shoon
He roves half indolent & self employed
To rob the little birds
Of hips & pendant awes
& sloes dim covered as with dewey veils
& rambling bramble berries pulp & sweet
Arching their prickly trails
Half oer the narrow lane
& mark the hedger front with stubborn face
The dank blea wind that whistles thinly bye
His leathern garb thorn proof
& cheeks red hot with toil
& rambling bramble berries pulp & sweet
Arching their prickly trails
Half oer the narrow lane
& mark the hedger front with stubborn face
The dank blea wind that whistles thinly bye
His leathern garb thorn proof
& cheeks red hot with toil
Wild sorceress me thy restless mood delights
More than the stir of summers crowded scenes
Where jostled in the din
Joy pauled mine ear with song
Heart sickening for the silence that is thine
Not broken inharmoniously as now
That lone & vagrant bee
Booms faint with weary chime
More than the stir of summers crowded scenes
Where jostled in the din
Joy pauled mine ear with song
Heart sickening for the silence that is thine
Not broken inharmoniously as now
That lone & vagrant bee
Booms faint with weary chime
& filtering winds thin winnowing through the woods
In tremelous noise that bids at every breath
Some sickly cankered leaf
Let go its hold & die
& now the bickering storm with sudden start
In flirting fits of anger carpeth loud
Thee urging to thine end
Sore wept by troubled skyes
In tremelous noise that bids at every breath
Some sickly cankered leaf
Let go its hold & die
& now the bickering storm with sudden start
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Thee urging to thine end
Sore wept by troubled skyes
& yet sublime in grief thy thoughts delight
To show me visions of most gorgeous dyes
Haply forgetting now
They but prepare thy shroud
Thy pencil dashing its excess of shades
Improvident of waste till every bough
Burns with thy mellow touch
Disorderly divine
To show me visions of most gorgeous dyes
Haply forgetting now
They but prepare thy shroud
Thy pencil dashing its excess of shades
Improvident of waste till every bough
Burns with thy mellow touch
Disorderly divine
Soon must I view thee as a pleasant dream
Droop faintly & so sicken for thine end
As sad the winds sink low
In dirges for their queen
While in the moment of their weary pause
To cheer thy bankrupt pomp the willing lark
Starts from his shielding clod
Snatching sweet scraps of song
Droop faintly & so sicken for thine end
As sad the winds sink low
In dirges for their queen
While in the moment of their weary pause
To cheer thy bankrupt pomp the willing lark
Starts from his shielding clod
Snatching sweet scraps of song
Thy life is waning now & silence tries
To mourn but meets no sympathy in sounds
As stooping low she bends
Forming with leaves thy grave
To sleep inglorious there mid tangled woods
Till parch lipped summer pines in draught away
Then from thine ivied trance
Awake to glories new
To mourn but meets no sympathy in sounds
As stooping low she bends
Forming with leaves thy grave
To sleep inglorious there mid tangled woods
Till parch lipped summer pines in draught away
Then from thine ivied trance
Awake to glories new
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |