 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
LIFE, DEATH, AND ETERNITY
A shadow moving by one's side,
That would a substance seem—
That is, yet is not—though descried
Like skies beneath the stream;
A tree that's ever in the bloom,
Whose fruit is never rife;
A wish for joys that never come—
Such are the hopes of Life.
That would a substance seem—
That is, yet is not—though descried
Like skies beneath the stream;
A tree that's ever in the bloom,
Whose fruit is never rife;
A wish for joys that never come—
Such are the hopes of Life.
A dark, inevitable night,
A blank that will remain;
A waiting for the morning light,
Where waiting is in vain;
A gulph, where pathway never led
To show the depth beneath;
A thing we know not, yet we dread—
The hornèd thing—'tis Death.
A blank that will remain;
A waiting for the morning light,
Where waiting is in vain;
A gulph, where pathway never led
To show the depth beneath;
A thing we know not, yet we dread—
The hornèd thing—'tis Death.
The vaulted void of purple sky
That everywhere extends,
That stretches from the dazzled eye,
In space that never ends;
A morning whose uprisen sun
No setting e'er shall see;
A day that comes without a noon—
Such is Eternity.
That everywhere extends,
That stretches from the dazzled eye,
In space that never ends;
A morning whose uprisen sun
No setting e'er shall see;
A day that comes without a noon—
Such is Eternity.
| The Poems of John Clare | |