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 |  |
298
CHILDISH RECOLLECTIONS
Perhaps it is foolish to remark it but there are times & places when I am a child at those things
Mackenzie
Each scene of youth to mes a pleasing toy
Which memory like a lover doats upon
& mixt wi them I am again a boy
& tears & sighs regret the things thats gone
Which memory like a lover doats upon
& mixt wi them I am again a boy
& tears & sighs regret the things thats gone
An wi enthusiast excesses wild
The scenes of childhood meet my moistning eye
& wi the very weakness of a child
I feel the raptures of delights gone bye
The scenes of childhood meet my moistning eye
& wi the very weakness of a child
I feel the raptures of delights gone bye
& if Im childish wi such trifling things
If littleness it shows & vain & weak
When such like foolishness in memory spring[s]
Vain as it is I cannot help but speak
If littleness it shows & vain & weak
When such like foolishness in memory spring[s]
Vain as it is I cannot help but speak
299
& still I fancy as around I stroll
Each boyish scene to mark the sport & game
Theres others living wi a self like soul
That thinks & loves such trifles just the same
Each boyish scene to mark the sport & game
Theres others living wi a self like soul
That thinks & loves such trifles just the same
An old familiar spot I witness here
Wi young companions were we oft have met
Tho since we playd tis bleachd wi many a year
The sports as warmly thrills my bosom yet
Wi young companions were we oft have met
Tho since we playd tis bleachd wi many a year
The sports as warmly thrills my bosom yet
Here winds the dyke were oft we jumpt across
Tis just as if it were but yesternight
There hangs the gate we calld our wooden horse
Were we in swee swaw ridings took delight
Tis just as if it were but yesternight
There hangs the gate we calld our wooden horse
Were we in swee swaw ridings took delight
& every thing shines round me just as then
Mole hills & trees & bushes speckling wild
That freshens all those pastimes up agen
O griveous day that changd me from a child
Mole hills & trees & bushes speckling wild
That freshens all those pastimes up agen
O griveous day that changd me from a child
To seek the play thing & the pleasing toy
The painted pootey shell & summer flowers
How blest was I when I was here a boy
What joys were mine in these delightfull hours
The painted pootey shell & summer flowers
How blest was I when I was here a boy
What joys were mine in these delightfull hours
300
On this same bank I bound my poseys up
& culld the sweetest blossoms one by one
The cowslips still entices me to stoop
But all the feelings they inspird are gone
& culld the sweetest blossoms one by one
The cowslips still entices me to stoop
But all the feelings they inspird are gone
Tho in the midst of each endeard delight
Where still the cowslaps to the breezes bow
Tho all my childish scenes are in my sight
Sad manhood marks me an intruder now
Where still the cowslaps to the breezes bow
Tho all my childish scenes are in my sight
Sad manhood marks me an intruder now
Here runs the brook which I have damd & stopt
Wi choaking sods & water weeds & stones
& watchd wi joy till bursting off it plopt
In rushing gushes of wild murmering groans
Wi choaking sods & water weeds & stones
& watchd wi joy till bursting off it plopt
In rushing gushes of wild murmering groans
Here stands the tree wi clasping ivy bound
Which oft Ive clumb to see the chaps at plough
& checkerd fields for many a furlong round
Rockd by the winds upon its topmost bough
Which oft Ive clumb to see the chaps at plough
& checkerd fields for many a furlong round
Rockd by the winds upon its topmost bough
Ah on this bank how blest I once have felt
When here I sat & mutterd namless songs
& wi the shepherd boy & netterd knelt
Upon yon rush beds plaiting whips & thongs
When here I sat & mutterd namless songs
& wi the shepherd boy & netterd knelt
Upon yon rush beds plaiting whips & thongs
Fond memory warms as here with gravel shells
I pild my fancied cots & walled rings
& scoopt wi wooden knife my little wells
& filld em up wi water from the springs
I pild my fancied cots & walled rings
& scoopt wi wooden knife my little wells
& filld em up wi water from the springs
301
Ah memory sighs now hope my heart beguiles
To build as yet snug cots to cheer despair
While fate at distance mocks wi gri[n]ning smiles
& calls my structures castles in the air
To build as yet snug cots to cheer despair
While fate at distance mocks wi gri[n]ning smiles
& calls my structures castles in the air
Now een the thistles quaking in the wind
The very rushes nodding oer the green
Hold each expressive language to my mind
That like old mayteys tell of what has been
The very rushes nodding oer the green
Hold each expressive language to my mind
That like old mayteys tell of what has been
O ‘sweet of sweets’ from infancy that flow
When can we witness bliss so sweet as then
Might I but have my choice of joy below
I'd only ask to be a boy agen
When can we witness bliss so sweet as then
Might I but have my choice of joy below
I'd only ask to be a boy agen
Life owns no joy so pleasant as the past
That banishd pleasure rapt in memorys womb
It leaves a flavour sweet to every taste
Like the sweet substance of the honey comb
That banishd pleasure rapt in memorys womb
It leaves a flavour sweet to every taste
Like the sweet substance of the honey comb
| The early poems of John Clare | |