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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MAY-DAY |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
MAY-DAY
Now happy swains review the plains
And hail the first of may
Now linnets sing to welcome spring
And every soul is gay
And hail the first of may
Now linnets sing to welcome spring
And every soul is gay
Hobs joyful soul high rears the pole
With wild flower wreaths entwin'd
Then tip-toe round the maidens bound
All sorrow lags behind
With wild flower wreaths entwin'd
Then tip-toe round the maidens bound
All sorrow lags behind
The emblemn thorn their doors adorn
With every flowret lin'd
All earliest spring essays to bring
Or scearching maids can find
With every flowret lin'd
All earliest spring essays to bring
Or scearching maids can find
27
So lov'd the hour so sweet the flower
That first produces may
That every brow seems laughing now
To cellebrate the day
That first produces may
That every brow seems laughing now
To cellebrate the day
All swains resort to join the sport
E'en age will not disdain
But oft will throng to hear the song
And view the jocund train
E'en age will not disdain
But oft will throng to hear the song
And view the jocund train
I often too had us'd to go
The rural mirth to share
But what alas! time brought to pass
Soon made me absent there
The rural mirth to share
But what alas! time brought to pass
Soon made me absent there
My collin dy'd! the village pride
O hapless misery
Then sports adieu with him they flew
‘For he was all to me!’
O hapless misery
Then sports adieu with him they flew
‘For he was all to me!’
And May no more shall ne'er restore
To me those joys again
Theres no relief but urghing grief
For memory wakens pain
To me those joys again
Theres no relief but urghing grief
For memory wakens pain
To think how he so dear to me
Had us'd to join the fray
And O! so dear to him they were
He gloried in the day
Had us'd to join the fray
And O! so dear to him they were
He gloried in the day
But now sad scene he's left the green
And Lubin here to mourn
Then flowers may spring and birds may sing
And May-days may return
And Lubin here to mourn
Then flowers may spring and birds may sing
And May-days may return
But never more can they restore
Their rural sports to me
No no adieu with him ye flew
‘For he was all to me!’
Their rural sports to me
No no adieu with him ye flew
‘For he was all to me!’
| The early poems of John Clare | |