 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
118
TO --- ON MAY MORNING
Lady tis thy desire to move
Far from the worlds ungentle throng
Lady tis thy delight to love
The muses & the suns of song
Nor taste alone is thine to praise
For thou canst touch the minstrel wire
& while thourt praising others lays
Wake notes that any may admire
Forgive if I in friendships way
Do offer thee a wreath of May
Far from the worlds ungentle throng
Lady tis thy delight to love
The muses & the suns of song
Nor taste alone is thine to praise
For thou canst touch the minstrel wire
& while thourt praising others lays
Wake notes that any may admire
Forgive if I in friendships way
Do offer thee a wreath of May
I greet thee with no gaudy flowers
For thou art not to fashions prone
But rather lovest the woodland bowers
Where natures beautys charm alone
The Passion flower & Ceres fine
By wealth & pride are reared alone
Yet flowers more sweet nor less divine
Springs humbler fields & forests own
To every hand & bosom given
And nourished by the dews of heaven
For thou art not to fashions prone
But rather lovest the woodland bowers
Where natures beautys charm alone
The Passion flower & Ceres fine
By wealth & pride are reared alone
Yet flowers more sweet nor less divine
Springs humbler fields & forests own
To every hand & bosom given
And nourished by the dews of heaven
The little violets bloom I weave
In wreaths Im fain that thou shouldst prize
Although it comes at winters eve
& often in the tempest dies
The Primrose too a doubtful dream
Of what precarious spring would be
Yet would I not the type should seem
Aught fancy feigns resembling thee
& thus belie thy gentle heart
Where worldly coldness hath no part
In wreaths Im fain that thou shouldst prize
Although it comes at winters eve
& often in the tempest dies
The Primrose too a doubtful dream
Of what precarious spring would be
Yet would I not the type should seem
Aught fancy feigns resembling thee
& thus belie thy gentle heart
Where worldly coldness hath no part
Here too are boughs of opening May
And Lillies of the valley fair
Yet not with idle praise to say
Theyre types of what are sweet & fair
I cropt one from the pasture hedge
The others from the forrest dell
& thou hast given the muses pledge
Such scenes delight thy bosom well
Tis not thy person wakes my lays
Thy heart alone I mean to praise
And Lillies of the valley fair
Yet not with idle praise to say
Theyre types of what are sweet & fair
I cropt one from the pasture hedge
The others from the forrest dell
& thou hast given the muses pledge
Such scenes delight thy bosom well
119
Thy heart alone I mean to praise
Forgive me though I flatter not
Youths beauties it were thine to wear
Hath been by riper years forgot
Though thou hast had a happy share
& I might praise full many a grace
That lives & lingers yet behind
But they like flowers shall change their place
Not so the beauties of the mind
So I have Ivy placed between
To prove that worth is ever green
Youths beauties it were thine to wear
Hath been by riper years forgot
Though thou hast had a happy share
& I might praise full many a grace
That lives & lingers yet behind
But they like flowers shall change their place
Not so the beauties of the mind
So I have Ivy placed between
To prove that worth is ever green
The little blue Forget me not
Comes too on friendships gentle plea
Springs messenger in every spot
Smiling on all remember me
But gaudy Tulips find no place
In garlands friendship would bestow
Yet here the cowslip shows its face
Prized for its sweetness more than show
Emblems to pride & pomp inclined
Would but offend a modest mind
Comes too on friendships gentle plea
Springs messenger in every spot
Smiling on all remember me
But gaudy Tulips find no place
In garlands friendship would bestow
Yet here the cowslip shows its face
Prized for its sweetness more than show
Emblems to pride & pomp inclined
Would but offend a modest mind
I would not on Mays garland fling
The Laurel to the muse & thee
For fashions praise—a common thing
Hath made of that once sacred tree
& trust me many laurels wear
That never grew on parnass hill
Yet dare & speed tis thine to heir
The muses laurels if ye will
Let flattery think her wreaths divine
Merit by its own worth will shine
The Laurel to the muse & thee
For fashions praise—a common thing
Hath made of that once sacred tree
& trust me many laurels wear
That never grew on parnass hill
Yet dare & speed tis thine to heir
The muses laurels if ye will
Let flattery think her wreaths divine
Merit by its own worth will shine
O when I view the glorious host
Of poets to my country born
Though sorrow was the lot of most
& many shared the sneers of scorn
That now by time & talent tried
Give life to fames eternal sun
O when I mark the glorious pride
That England from her bards hath won
Een I the meanest of the throng
Warm into extacy & song
Of poets to my country born
Though sorrow was the lot of most
& many shared the sneers of scorn
That now by time & talent tried
Give life to fames eternal sun
O when I mark the glorious pride
That England from her bards hath won
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Warm into extacy & song
The highest gifts each kingdom claims
Are minstrels on the muses throne
& bards whove won the richest fames
Tis Englands noblest pride to own
Shakspears & Miltons they that heir
The fames immortal oer decay
& Scotts & Byrons born to wear
The honours of a later day
That joins to present past renown
& sings eternity to crown
Are minstrels on the muses throne
& bards whove won the richest fames
Tis Englands noblest pride to own
Shakspears & Miltons they that heir
The fames immortal oer decay
& Scotts & Byrons born to wear
The honours of a later day
That joins to present past renown
& sings eternity to crown
These from proud laurels never won
Their fames & honours more divine
They like the grand eternal sun
Confer their glories where they shine
The Laurel were a common bough
Had it not decked the poets crown
& even weeds so common now
Placed there would augur like renown
Bloom satellites in glorys way
Proud as the Laurel & the Bay
Their fames & honours more divine
They like the grand eternal sun
Confer their glories where they shine
The Laurel were a common bough
Had it not decked the poets crown
& even weeds so common now
Placed there would augur like renown
Bloom satellites in glorys way
Proud as the Laurel & the Bay
Lady & thou hast chosen well
To give the muses thy regard
There taste from pleasure bears the bell
There feeling finds its own reward
Tho genius often while it makes
Lifes millions happy with her songs
For sorrows cup her portion takes
& struggles under bitterest wrongs
To cares of life & song unknown
The poets fame be thine alone
To give the muses thy regard
There taste from pleasure bears the bell
There feeling finds its own reward
Tho genius often while it makes
Lifes millions happy with her songs
For sorrows cup her portion takes
& struggles under bitterest wrongs
To cares of life & song unknown
The poets fame be thine alone
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |