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 | ||
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[The war is of every kind comfort bereft me]
The war is of every kind comfort bereft me
Sin' deaths horrid letter the seas wafted oer
To tell Jemmy dead—O my hopes they have left me
I never shall meet wi my Jemmy no more
O war so far from me to lay him asleeping
& o such fond love in deaths arms to lay cold
O war thou wert deaf to a fond maidens weeping
A heart of hard marble thy bosom must hold
Sin' deaths horrid letter the seas wafted oer
To tell Jemmy dead—O my hopes they have left me
I never shall meet wi my Jemmy no more
O war so far from me to lay him asleeping
& o such fond love in deaths arms to lay cold
O war thou wert deaf to a fond maidens weeping
A heart of hard marble thy bosom must hold
443
My Jemmy is gone & my hopes all have followd
Nought sweetens a thought of his coming again
The bower blooms as usual that parting vows hallowd
But the youth that last got me the posey is slain
& the eve dew may drop on the flower by noon heated
& the dewdrops of even the flower may restore
But the loves of that bower shall be never repeated
& the flower by that hand will be gatherd no more
Nought sweetens a thought of his coming again
The bower blooms as usual that parting vows hallowd
But the youth that last got me the posey is slain
& the eve dew may drop on the flower by noon heated
& the dewdrops of even the flower may restore
But the loves of that bower shall be never repeated
& the flower by that hand will be gatherd no more
Oer the fair face of summer 3 winters 'bin sweeping
& three springs have wakened sin he bid adieu
& far yond the ocean full soundly he's sleeping
Frail life owns no shoots for to blossom anew
& suns may oft gleam were he slumbers forsaken
& daiseys may smile on the turf were he's lain
Nor sunbeams nor summers can warm him to waken
The smile of my Jemmy neer blossoms again
& three springs have wakened sin he bid adieu
& far yond the ocean full soundly he's sleeping
Frail life owns no shoots for to blossom anew
& suns may oft gleam were he slumbers forsaken
& daiseys may smile on the turf were he's lain
Nor sunbeams nor summers can warm him to waken
The smile of my Jemmy neer blossoms again
The early poems of John Clare | ||