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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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
33
BALLAD
[Mem'ry thourt kind banishd bliss to endear it]
‘She came—she is gone—we have met. . .
‘& meet perhaps never again
‘The sun of that moment is set
‘& seems to have risen in vain’
Cowper
‘& meet perhaps never again
‘The sun of that moment is set
‘& seems to have risen in vain’
Cowper
Mem'ry thourt kind banishd bliss to endear it
Time thou art cruel to wear it from me
Fancy thourt sweet as more sweeter appeareth
Forms of reallity shadowd by thee
Artless & innoscent how she lookd on me
Smiles that she gave me shall never decay
God what a thrilling of joy came upon me
Fate then how cruel to wear it away
Time thou art cruel to wear it from me
Fancy thourt sweet as more sweeter appeareth
Forms of reallity shadowd by thee
Artless & innoscent how she lookd on me
Smiles that she gave me shall never decay
God what a thrilling of joy came upon me
Fate then how cruel to wear it away
Ah the first sigh of the love smitten maiden
Heaving the witness were anxious to prove
Tenant of truth with affection oer laden
Puritys fondness the essence of love
Where is the smile our first meeting elated
Memry the tear of our parting let be
My own sure she blossomd by nature created
Ah fate then how cruel to tare her from me
Heaving the witness were anxious to prove
Tenant of truth with affection oer laden
Puritys fondness the essence of love
Where is the smile our first meeting elated
Memry the tear of our parting let be
My own sure she blossomd by nature created
Ah fate then how cruel to tare her from me
Shoud chance behold thee agen as my duty
One tale of seperate sorow Id tell
& then only wish—not to feast on thy beauty
Thou mayst find out another to love thee as well
—Twin hearts in loves cement so loath to be parted
Like leaves to the branches & boughs to the tree
We once—but its usless—we now are deserted
Sad fate then how cruel to tare her from me
One tale of seperate sorow Id tell
& then only wish—not to feast on thy beauty
Thou mayst find out another to love thee as well
34
Like leaves to the branches & boughs to the tree
We once—but its usless—we now are deserted
Sad fate then how cruel to tare her from me
Ah the fond kisses I often was stealing
Additions of others like waves from the sea
Have they washd out impressions of loves early feeling
Or still does she warm when shes thinking of me
O when I pass the first spot of our meeting
& see such flowers spring as I gatherd for thee
Mary I sigh—what its no use repeating
I sigh now that thou must be nothing to me
Additions of others like waves from the sea
Have they washd out impressions of loves early feeling
Or still does she warm when shes thinking of me
O when I pass the first spot of our meeting
& see such flowers spring as I gatherd for thee
Mary I sigh—what its no use repeating
I sigh now that thou must be nothing to me
| The early poems of John Clare | |