The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
I. |
a. |
b. |
a. |
b. |
a. |
b. |
THE DISCOVERY
|
II. |
The early poems of John Clare | ||
THE DISCOVERY
or Song of Truth
While fancy thrums the prinking strings
A stranger to the heart she sings
Her Emmas Myras fancied things
Till truth inspires the tale
—Then heart & soul in raptures springs
To Patty of the Vale
A stranger to the heart she sings
Her Emmas Myras fancied things
Till truth inspires the tale
—Then heart & soul in raptures springs
To Patty of the Vale
A Cheek to praise or Lips or Eyes
Each Fair my simple song supplies
But here the heart the tongue denies
When truth inspires my tale
Ah then the only maid I prize
Is patty of the Vale
Each Fair my simple song supplies
But here the heart the tongue denies
When truth inspires my tale
Ah then the only maid I prize
Is patty of the Vale
483
The guiless smile that dints the cheek
Eyes thro whose looks the heart will speak
That truest love the wise would seek
How strongly these prevail
To bind the Vow I ne'er can break
With Patty of the Vale
Eyes thro whose looks the heart will speak
That truest love the wise would seek
How strongly these prevail
To bind the Vow I ne'er can break
With Patty of the Vale
Tis not the zemblers wiles can prove
This purest gem—the truth of Love
Its tipe exists in heaven above
Ah where such charms prevail—
A heaven below my soul can prove
In patty of the Vale
This purest gem—the truth of Love
Its tipe exists in heaven above
Ah where such charms prevail—
A heaven below my soul can prove
In patty of the Vale
True as the needle to the pole
My fixed fond unwavering soul
(But only mov'd as forc'd controul
Or rigid fates prevail)
To be at rest must north ward roll
To patty of the Vale
My fixed fond unwavering soul
(But only mov'd as forc'd controul
Or rigid fates prevail)
To be at rest must north ward roll
To patty of the Vale
Tho fate may change & want depart
As fortune wills—(with all my heart!)
But never will I worth desert
Or flourish hopes or fail
Still near & dearest to my heart
Is Patty of the Vale
As fortune wills—(with all my heart!)
But never will I worth desert
Or flourish hopes or fail
Still near & dearest to my heart
Is Patty of the Vale
The early poems of John Clare | ||