 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
FIRST LOVE
No single hour can pass for naught,
No moment-hand can move,
But calendars an aching thought
Of my first lonely love.
No moment-hand can move,
But calendars an aching thought
Of my first lonely love.
385
Where silence doth the loudest call
My secret to betray,
As moonlight holds the night in thrall,
As suns reveal the day,
My secret to betray,
As moonlight holds the night in thrall,
As suns reveal the day,
I hide it in the silent shades,
Till silence finds a tongue;
I make its grave where time invades,
Till time becomes a song.
Till silence finds a tongue;
I make its grave where time invades,
Till time becomes a song.
I bid my foolish heart be still,
But hopes will not be chid:
My heart will beat, and burn, and chill,
First love will not be hid.
But hopes will not be chid:
My heart will beat, and burn, and chill,
First love will not be hid.
When summer ceases to be green,
And winter bare and blea,
Death may forget what I have been
When I shall cease to be.
And winter bare and blea,
Death may forget what I have been
When I shall cease to be.
When words refuse before the crowd
My Mary's name to give,
The muse in silence sings aloud:
And there my love will live.
My Mary's name to give,
The muse in silence sings aloud:
And there my love will live.
| The Poems of John Clare | |