The later poems of John Clare 1837-1864 ... General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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AMONG THE GREEN BUSHES |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
AMONG THE GREEN BUSHES
Down among the green bushes I wander away
And leave the dull crowds and the City behind
In the white thorns and maples I spend the green day
And list to the sighs O' the soft passing wind
To the sighs of the wind and the whispering leaves
I think of my true love where ever I go
And leave the dull crowds and the City behind
In the white thorns and maples I spend the green day
And list to the sighs O' the soft passing wind
To the sighs of the wind and the whispering leaves
I think of my true love where ever I go
B'neath her gown bosom her two bubbies heaves
And the hue of her shoulders is whiter than snow
To kiss that white shoulder her handkerchief hides
I've oft longed to do so when e'en she passed bye
But when she got closer I could not abide
To turn to her bosom my own sheepish eye
And the hue of her shoulders is whiter than snow
To kiss that white shoulder her handkerchief hides
I've oft longed to do so when e'en she passed bye
But when she got closer I could not abide
To turn to her bosom my own sheepish eye
Among the green bushes I wandered and found
The maid of my bosom the love o' my heart
By the strings O' her apron I clasped my arms round
And pressed her so closely as never to part
I kissed her dear cheek i' the raptures O' bliss
I pressed her sweet lips there was nothing so dear
The maid of my bosom the love o' my heart
By the strings O' her apron I clasped my arms round
And pressed her so closely as never to part
I kissed her dear cheek i' the raptures O' bliss
I pressed her sweet lips there was nothing so dear
720
Among the green bushes I wandered alone
But ne'er see my sweetheart the whole of the way
Her cheek like the rose was her heart but my own
How sweet in this green place to spend the whole day
Beneath the green bushes I stole the sweet kiss
And felt the soft pleasure for all the long year
But ne'er see my sweetheart the whole of the way
Her cheek like the rose was her heart but my own
How sweet in this green place to spend the whole day
Beneath the green bushes I stole the sweet kiss
And felt the soft pleasure for all the long year
| The later poems of John Clare | |