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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[Mary I dare not call thee dear] |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
470
[Mary I dare not call thee dear]
Mary I dare not call thee dear
Ive lost that sound so long
Once more I teaze thy careless ear
With memorys idle song
Ah seasons change hath blotted out
With this worlds cheating ways
Thou wert the last that I shoud doubt
Of pleasing with my praise
Ive lost that sound so long
Once more I teaze thy careless ear
With memorys idle song
Ah seasons change hath blotted out
With this worlds cheating ways
Thou wert the last that I shoud doubt
Of pleasing with my praise
I hopd that we shoud be as one
& felt it soon woud be
But hopes of every kind are gone
Nor left a dream of thee
& hopes that all have met their end
Close linkd with many a vow
Nor left one een to call thee friend
How wide the difference now
& felt it soon woud be
But hopes of every kind are gone
Nor left a dream of thee
& hopes that all have met their end
Close linkd with many a vow
Nor left one een to call thee friend
How wide the difference now
How loath to part how fond to meet
Had we two used to be
When abscence past what eager feet
Did haste me back to thee
Three days scarce past before we met
In spring or winter weather
Now years thrice three have rose & set
Nor found us once together
Had we two used to be
When abscence past what eager feet
Did haste me back to thee
Three days scarce past before we met
In spring or winter weather
Now years thrice three have rose & set
Nor found us once together
471
What honied tokens did each tongue
Tell how we warmly lovd
How a[rdent] to thy lips I clung
Were noght but smiles reprovd
But now methinks if but a word
Was utterd in thy ear
Thoudst startle like an untamd bird
& blush with stranger fear
Tell how we warmly lovd
How a[rdent] to thy lips I clung
Were noght but smiles reprovd
But now methinks if but a word
Was utterd in thy ear
Thoudst startle like an untamd bird
& blush with stranger fear
The vainest hope I had for thee
Did ease its foolish will
With coming days that were to be
Its wishes to fulfill
But now what is my name to thee
Jests for an idle ear
From one who made me down trod be
Than nought on earth more dear
Like counterfited coin thy loves
Impression lingers on
When all the gilt is washd away
& all the worth is gone
Did ease its foolish will
With coming days that were to be
Its wishes to fulfill
But now what is my name to thee
Jests for an idle ear
From one who made me down trod be
Than nought on earth more dear
Like counterfited coin thy loves
Impression lingers on
When all the gilt is washd away
& all the worth is gone
Thy face was so familiar grown
Thy self so often bye
A moments memory when alone
Woud bring thee in my eye
But now my very dreams forget
That witching look to trace
Tho there thy memorys often met
It wears a strangers face
Thy self so often bye
A moments memory when alone
Woud bring thee in my eye
But now my very dreams forget
That witching look to trace
Tho there thy memorys often met
It wears a strangers face
| The early poems of John Clare | |