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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BALLAD
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
BALLAD
[Mary fate lent me a moment of pleasure]
Mary fate lent me a moment of pleasure
Just to insure me in ages of pain
Just bid me meet thee & wish for the treasure
To frown back & tell me I wisht it in vain
Just like spring sun shine I met wi thee mary
That shines for a moment & cloudeth again
But alas in our love there is one thing contrary
Fates clouds of that moment cleard never again
Just to insure me in ages of pain
Just bid me meet thee & wish for the treasure
To frown back & tell me I wisht it in vain
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That shines for a moment & cloudeth again
But alas in our love there is one thing contrary
Fates clouds of that moment cleard never again
Mary fond feelings will never forsake me
Never again tho Im happy wi thee
Hope paints the cure that enrapturd coud make me
Tho fate to torment vows it never shall be
Mary hope wispers some chance in our favour
That still I may gaze on thy beauties once more
But fates bonds are on me that cruel enslaver
& love is not lawful to meet as before
Never again tho Im happy wi thee
Hope paints the cure that enrapturd coud make me
Tho fate to torment vows it never shall be
Mary hope wispers some chance in our favour
That still I may gaze on thy beauties once more
But fates bonds are on me that cruel enslaver
& love is not lawful to meet as before
Mary how sweet when love baskd in thy feature
Mary how saddend the sighs rose & fell
Surely those sighs was the instinct of nature
Of future forebodings fate card not to tell
Mary thy smiles still endear our departure
Tho they do haunt me in gloomy deform
Like waining sunbeams the clouds follow after
That just give a glance ere theyre lost in the storm
Mary how saddend the sighs rose & fell
Surely those sighs was the instinct of nature
Of future forebodings fate card not to tell
Mary thy smiles still endear our departure
Tho they do haunt me in gloomy deform
Like waining sunbeams the clouds follow after
That just give a glance ere theyre lost in the storm
| The early poems of John Clare | |