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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DAWNING OF GENIUS |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
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DAWNING OF GENIUS
Genius a pleasing rapture of the mindA kindling warmth to Learning unconfin'd
Glows in each breast & flutters every vein
From arts Refinements to th'unculter'd swain
Such is that warmth the lowly shepherd proves
Pacing his native fields & willow Groves
Such is that joy which every scene unfolds
Which taste endeareth & fond memory holds
Such is that sympathy his heart attends
Makes bush & tree companions seem & friends
Such is that fondness from his soul sincere
That makes his native place so doubly dear
The sparks of genius Ignorance conceals
Gleams forth to relish what his Bosom feels
In those low paths which poverty surounds
The rough rude ploughman of his fallow grounds
Those nessascery tools of wealth & pride
While moild & sweating by some pasture side
How oft he'll stoop inquisitive to trace
The opening beauties of a daiseys face
& often witness with admiring eyes
The brooks sweet dimples oer the pebbles rise
& often bent as oer some magic spell
Hell pause & pick his shaped stone & shell
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& joys delight him which he cannot name
Ideas picture pleasing views to mind
For which his language can no utterance find
Increasing beauties fresh'ning on his sight
Unfold new charms & witness more delight
So while the present please the last decay
& in each [other] loosing melt away
Thus pausing wild on all he saunters by
He feels enrapturd tho he knows not why
& hums & mutters oer his joys in vain
& dwells on somthing which he cant explain
The bu[r]sts of thought with which his souls perplext
Are bred one moment & are gone the next
Yet still the heart will kindling sparks retain
& thoughts will rise & fancy strive again
(So have I markt the dying embers light
When on the hearth it fainted from my sight
A Glimmering glow oft redens up again
& sparks crack bright'ning into light in vain)
Still lingering out its kindling hopes to rise
Till faint & fainter the last twinkle dies
Vain burns the soul & throbs the fluttering heart
Their painfull pleasing feelings to impart
Till by successles sallies wearied quite
The memory fails & fancy takes her flight
The wickett nipt within its socket dies
Born down & smother'd in a thousand sighs
| The early poems of John Clare | |