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 GARDENERS BONNY DAUGHTER |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
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THE GARDENERS BONNY DAUGHTER
The chaffinch in the hedge row sings In the brown naked thorn
And by its tail the titmouse hings Searching the buds at morn
And I'll wish dirty roads away And meadows flooded water
And court before I end the day The gardeners bonny daughter
And by its tail the titmouse hings Searching the buds at morn
And I'll wish dirty roads away And meadows flooded water
And court before I end the day The gardeners bonny daughter
She's sweeter than the first o' spring More fair than Christmas roses
When robins by the hovel sing Sweet smiles the maid discloses
Her hair so brown her eye so bright As clear as the spring water
I'll go and have a word tonight With the gardeners bonny daughter
When robins by the hovel sing Sweet smiles the maid discloses
Her hair so brown her eye so bright As clear as the spring water
I'll go and have a word tonight With the gardeners bonny daughter
Her cheeks are like the coloured rose A kiss would surely burn ye
Her lips are gems more red than those For love I'll go the journey
And when the white thorn comes in leaf And the chaffinch lays her lauter
I walk where singing birds are brief Wi' the gardeners bonny daughter
Her lips are gems more red than those For love I'll go the journey
And when the white thorn comes in leaf And the chaffinch lays her lauter
I walk where singing birds are brief Wi' the gardeners bonny daughter
I passed the gardeners house one night My heart burnt to a cynder
When I saw her face and eyes so bright A looking through the window
And when I'd passed the house agen I'd been pounded in a mortar
But she looked and smiled upon me then So I love the gardeners bonny daughter
When I saw her face and eyes so bright A looking through the window
And when I'd passed the house agen I'd been pounded in a mortar
But she looked and smiled upon me then So I love the gardeners bonny daughter
| The later poems of John Clare | |