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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[O who can paint the anguish of the heart] |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
[O who can paint the anguish of the heart]
O who can paint the anguish of the heartOr who the souls Ideas can impart
At that dread moment the self murderer stands
To fall ------
In that dread moment when the frantic heart
From Life the world & all prepares to start
To somewhere still unknown without a name
Or heavens bliss or hells eternall shame
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& none can tell but [only] them that [feels]
When at the ponds steep verge she trembling stood
& gazd in horror on the whelming flood
That gent[l]y crimpld on its breezy wave
Soon to be ruffld with her watry grave
In musing anguish for awhile she stands
Holding her bosom with her clasping hands
Then Looks around in pains too deep to tell
& bids to all around a last farewell
& o that anguish more then death severe
That villians wrongs in dying doubly dear
In silent prayer her eyes are fixt on heaven
Her prayers are his that he may be forgiven
Herself forgot her prayers are all for him
& fear & fondness shivers every limb
Then firm resolvd to end her every woe
She takes a headlong plunge & dives below
The water splashes in convulsive sound
& foaming Eddies curdle all around
To the pond side the dashing billows gush
& starts the blackbird from the hanging bush
The wreathing chasm ebbs a weaker wave
Forever closes on her watry grave
& starting bubles in disorder rise
Where struggling fate beneath in horror dies
Then puft by breezes out then rise again
More small & small the leesening drops remain
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& in a little train of froth expire
Ring within ring as faint they reach the side
Widening & weakening gradually subside
The dashing sound & Eddying wreaths are oer
& gentle calms ensue as heretofore
The breezes sweet crimps the curdling plain
The blackbird seeks her nest & sings again
The sun smiles happy on the neighbouring scene
& all seems now as tho there nought had been
The pond as usual meets each Gazers Eye
Gazers as usual peeps & hurrys bye
& as they mark the breezes curling wreath
They little think of her that lyes beneath
& little thinks as swells each harmless wave
That it is rolling over marys grave
| The early poems of John Clare | |