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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| b. | VERSES ON MIDNIGHT MADE DURING A JOURNEY (b)
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
VERSES ON MIDNIGHT MADE DURING A JOURNEY (b)
The day hath closed its weary toils abed
The clouds gloom deep on natures sleeping head
Nor noise nor sound is heard all hushd and dead
Silence most awful pauses as I tread
This wild woods dismal gloom
The clouds gloom deep on natures sleeping head
Nor noise nor sound is heard all hushd and dead
Silence most awful pauses as I tread
This wild woods dismal gloom
449
Midnight is deep indeed awfully deep
The world so busy once all lost asleep
Nor flies a bird nor insect cares to creep
Even ones thoughts a drowsy sabbath keep
And makes the heart their tomb
The world so busy once all lost asleep
Nor flies a bird nor insect cares to creep
Even ones thoughts a drowsy sabbath keep
And makes the heart their tomb
Awful the darkness thro the wild woods spread
A drowsy stillness oer their leaves prevade
Just stirring their dull mass of horrid shade
As if they trembled at the noise they made
And dare not stir again
A drowsy stillness oer their leaves prevade
Just stirring their dull mass of horrid shade
As if they trembled at the noise they made
And dare not stir again
Awful indeed it is to hear it now
That sudden rustle from the oaks dark bough
As shrieks the night hawk loud—but hushed and low
It stills again and midnights musings now
In their still fears remain
That sudden rustle from the oaks dark bough
As shrieks the night hawk loud—but hushed and low
It stills again and midnights musings now
In their still fears remain
How dismal seems the thought to think that I
In this deep wood and dark black dismal sky
Of all the world am left with unclosed eye
Treading the lonly wood to think and sigh
In startling fears alarm
In this deep wood and dark black dismal sky
Of all the world am left with unclosed eye
Treading the lonly wood to think and sigh
In startling fears alarm
Yet soothing now it is in this lone place
The forming dewdrops melting birth to trace
As sauntering doubtful on in fearful pace
Its misty moisture chilleth on my face
A soft refreshing calm
The forming dewdrops melting birth to trace
As sauntering doubtful on in fearful pace
Its misty moisture chilleth on my face
A soft refreshing calm
And soothing woud it be to catch the sight
Of traveling glow worms with their lanthorns bright
Twinkling their circling rays of glimmering light
Like dewdrops filled with fire to cheer the night
But all is dark as death
Of traveling glow worms with their lanthorns bright
Twinkling their circling rays of glimmering light
Like dewdrops filled with fire to cheer the night
But all is dark as death
450
And e'en to eke the terror fancy dreams
Of stooping neath some abbys massy beams
Down Isles in ruins while the white owl screams
And some dim dying lamp above head gleams
To show the tombs beneath
Of stooping neath some abbys massy beams
Down Isles in ruins while the white owl screams
And some dim dying lamp above head gleams
To show the tombs beneath
Or up some rugged castles towers sublime
Winding along its stoney steps to climb
Were swords and speers the remnants of old time
Perchance all rusted by some hidden crime
Each dismal corner fills
Winding along its stoney steps to climb
Were swords and speers the remnants of old time
Perchance all rusted by some hidden crime
Each dismal corner fills
While deepest night upon the ruins glower
And fear seems counting oer the midnight hour
Told by the old clock in its rifted tower
O highest pitch of terror fancys power
At her own picture chills
And fear seems counting oer the midnight hour
Told by the old clock in its rifted tower
O highest pitch of terror fancys power
At her own picture chills
Midnight dread thing and can a word unfold
The gloom and shades the fearful eyes behold
Thoughts say ‘all nature sleeps’ but have they told
That dread suspence in nights black robe enrolled
And fears dread history
The gloom and shades the fearful eyes behold
Thoughts say ‘all nature sleeps’ but have they told
That dread suspence in nights black robe enrolled
And fears dread history
That solemn deadly solemn awful scene
Nights twelve just counted off its intervene
Dead hour that slumbers twelve and one between
No blank in chaos ere the world had been
Was lost more silently
Nights twelve just counted off its intervene
Dead hour that slumbers twelve and one between
No blank in chaos ere the world had been
Was lost more silently
| The early poems of John Clare | |