 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
540
MORNING
The morning now right earlily in dewBathed her sweet naked limbs of fairest hue,
While like a veil all careless thrown aback
On her white shoulders hung her hair so black;
And when the sun a minute earlier rose
The lovely morning sought her cloudy clothes,
But finding none she hasting shrank away;
For night abashed had startled into day.
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And wooed morn's timid beauty to comply,
And scarlet as the dress she earlier wore
Her white face turned that was so fair before;
While fear in every limb diffused its charms
As soft she sighed and melted in his arms.
| The Poems of John Clare | |