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 early poems of John Clare |  |
432
HOME
Muses no more what ere ye be
In fancys pleasures roam
But sing (by truth inspir'd) wi' me
The pleasures of a home
In fancys pleasures roam
But sing (by truth inspir'd) wi' me
The pleasures of a home
Nor vain extreems I sigh for here
No Lordlings costly dome
‘Be thine the choice’ says reason ‘where
‘Contentment crowns a home’
No Lordlings costly dome
‘Be thine the choice’ says reason ‘where
‘Contentment crowns a home’
O! fate to give my bosom peace
Unsettl'd as I roam
To bid my restless wanderings cease
& fix me in a home
Unsettl'd as I roam
To bid my restless wanderings cease
& fix me in a home
A evening cot days toils to cheer
When tir'd I ceas'd to roam
& lovley Ema smileing near
O happy happy home
When tir'd I ceas'd to roam
& lovley Ema smileing near
O happy happy home
How oft the tramping Vagrant sighs
(By fate ordain'd to roam)
For labours best & happiest joys
The comforts of a home
(By fate ordain'd to roam)
For labours best & happiest joys
The comforts of a home
& O when labour night descries
When ceas'd to toil & roam
What joys will in his bosom rise
To think he owns a home
When ceas'd to toil & roam
What joys will in his bosom rise
To think he owns a home
433
How anxiously he leaves behind
His labour & his care
His children, wife, his home to find
Their happiness to share
His labour & his care
His children, wife, his home to find
Their happiness to share
So when the Lark declines his flight
Nor higher wills to flye
Grown faint & weary with the height
& glad to leave the sky
Nor higher wills to flye
Grown faint & weary with the height
& glad to leave the sky
How eager does he Eddy round
To seek his peace & rest
& blest to know where peace is found
Drops happy in his nest
To seek his peace & rest
& blest to know where peace is found
Drops happy in his nest
Ah pleasures but in vain display'd
My lot to discommode
Where hope but checkers up the shade
To show my gloomy road
My lot to discommode
Where hope but checkers up the shade
To show my gloomy road
Alas to me no home belongs
But what my dreams create
Vain Cuckoo like I sing my songs
& leave the rest to fate
But what my dreams create
Vain Cuckoo like I sing my songs
& leave the rest to fate
| The early poems of John Clare | |