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 |  |
SONG
[& Ive got a secret I fear to tell thee]
& Ive got a secret I fear to tell thee
& tho ye are fain it disclosed shoud be
I dread yer opinion & mine to agree
As I see the like happen to many
But do but turn back to the long summer thro'
Where I did as I did & now do as I do
The secret no longers a secret to you
& now can ye guess at it nanny
& tho ye are fain it disclosed shoud be
I dread yer opinion & mine to agree
As I see the like happen to many
But do but turn back to the long summer thro'
Where I did as I did & now do as I do
The secret no longers a secret to you
& now can ye guess at it nanny
433
Think night after night 'gen the greens flaggy slough
Where buzzing knats teazd ye while milking yer cow
How I took & bundld em off with a bough
From losses in kicking cows screening
Think when fresh jobs threw ye late in the day
& yer walk by the side of the haunted pond lay
To keep ye from fear how I met ye half way
Yeve sure now some guess at the meaning
Where buzzing knats teazd ye while milking yer cow
How I took & bundld em off with a bough
From losses in kicking cows screening
Think when fresh jobs threw ye late in the day
& yer walk by the side of the haunted pond lay
To keep ye from fear how I met ye half way
Yeve sure now some guess at the meaning
Aye nanny no longer a stranger ye stand
For I see the blush ye woud hide wi yer hand
My doubts wi the secret is now at an end
So no longer bother me nanny
& sure as I live by my flail & my spade
My choisce it is fixd & my pains are well paid
So let that kiss earnest the bargain as made
I love thee wench better then any
For I see the blush ye woud hide wi yer hand
My doubts wi the secret is now at an end
So no longer bother me nanny
& sure as I live by my flail & my spade
My choisce it is fixd & my pains are well paid
So let that kiss earnest the bargain as made
I love thee wench better then any
| The early poems of John Clare | |