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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THE EVENING COMES |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
THE EVENING COMES
The evening comes the evening goes high mounts the evening star
And on the heath the black cock crows the crows return from far
On heath and meadow I sojourn the warm sun bids good bye
I wait my lassie's glad return in fetching O the kye
And on the heath the black cock crows the crows return from far
On heath and meadow I sojourn the warm sun bids good bye
I wait my lassie's glad return in fetching O the kye
On bramble brere the dew bleb dips as bright as siller gems
And moisters green grasshoppers lips on clover's hairy stems
I lye upon the grassy knoll where bents and blossoms lye
And see my lassie's mountain stroll in fetching up the kye
And moisters green grasshoppers lips on clover's hairy stems
I lye upon the grassy knoll where bents and blossoms lye
And see my lassie's mountain stroll in fetching up the kye
The muircock whinies to its nest The partridge seeks the corn
The plover wi' its snow white breast Screems loudly e'en and morn
I lye agen the bramble bush A light step fans the pliant rush
The lass wha' seeks the kye
The plover wi' its snow white breast Screems loudly e'en and morn
I lye agen the bramble bush A light step fans the pliant rush
The lass wha' seeks the kye
How peaceful lies yon mountain cloud How sweet grey mist the valley shroud
The red across the blue and small flowers blebed wi' dew
O bonny is her rosy cheek and bright her beaming eye
The bonny lass that a the week comes out to fetch the kye
The red across the blue and small flowers blebed wi' dew
O bonny is her rosy cheek and bright her beaming eye
The bonny lass that a the week comes out to fetch the kye
732
Her hair is like the thunder clouds Aboon Benlomons brow
Her voice is sweet her gait not proud She charms I can't tell how
When glass the broad lakes lie I kiss her in the bracken green
When coming for the kye
Her voice is sweet her gait not proud She charms I can't tell how
When glass the broad lakes lie I kiss her in the bracken green
When coming for the kye
| The later poems of John Clare | |