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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[Learning may polish up love wi fine feelings] |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
[Learning may polish up love wi fine feelings]
Learning may polish up love wi fine feelings
Wit on thy charms may rich graces impart
But plain rural love the true language of nature
Still boasts the feelings that speak to the heart
Woudst thou be told what that look woud have told thee
Woudst thou be told what them sighs did declare
Twas loves simple lookings of bliss to behold thee
Twas loves bitter abscence that sighd its despair
Wit on thy charms may rich graces impart
But plain rural love the true language of nature
Still boasts the feelings that speak to the heart
Woudst thou be told what that look woud have told thee
Woudst thou be told what them sighs did declare
Twas loves simple lookings of bliss to behold thee
Twas loves bitter abscence that sighd its despair
Leave me till then in a snug box declining
& give me a wish as unbroken to be
Neer to repeat those sad nights of repining
When my last groat was dragd captive from me
Still leave me power as an unbroken charter
Sir barley corns mansion to visit at will
Prove me a hope true as free from that quarter
Taxes wornt lay no fresh tolls on his jill
& give me a wish as unbroken to be
Neer to repeat those sad nights of repining
When my last groat was dragd captive from me
Still leave me power as an unbroken charter
Sir barley corns mansion to visit at will
Prove me a hope true as free from that quarter
Taxes wornt lay no fresh tolls on his jill
417
The harp strings of life wi sweet feelings was strung
Sweet music once lull'd the thrill'd soul in its pain
But in secret it fled the sweet source whence it hung
I ne'er could my wanderings awake it again
Life's book had a page that could sweeten my sorrows
Ere child hood was lost in the tumult of years
Ere time folded down the sad leaves of tomorrows
Whose sweets of the past it defac'd in its tears
Sweet music once lull'd the thrill'd soul in its pain
But in secret it fled the sweet source whence it hung
I ne'er could my wanderings awake it again
Life's book had a page that could sweeten my sorrows
Ere child hood was lost in the tumult of years
Ere time folded down the sad leaves of tomorrows
Whose sweets of the past it defac'd in its tears
| The early poems of John Clare | |