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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OH! BEAUTIFUL THE WIND COMES |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
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OH! BEAUTIFUL THE WIND COMES
O beautiful the wind comes And shakes the pleasant woodbines
And pleasantly the bee hums And beautiful the sun shine[s]
And beautiful it is to sit Among sheep and kye
To see the birds and shadows flit And milkmaid tripping by
And pleasantly the bee hums And beautiful the sun shine[s]
And beautiful it is to sit Among sheep and kye
To see the birds and shadows flit And milkmaid tripping by
O its a pleasing sight to see E're evening brings the dew
The stretching lambs get up and flee To suck the bleating ewe
O its a pleasant thing to see't When evening brings the dew
To hear the sound of womans feet That's coming to meet you
The stretching lambs get up and flee To suck the bleating ewe
O its a pleasant thing to see't When evening brings the dew
To hear the sound of womans feet That's coming to meet you
The breeze just shakes the leaves Then shivers in the grass
And i' the bushes heaves Where I meet the bonny Lass
All nature seems akin To love the balmy air
The falling of a pin Might be heard while standing there
And i' the bushes heaves Where I meet the bonny Lass
All nature seems akin To love the balmy air
The falling of a pin Might be heard while standing there
I' the chimney pops the swallow And the martin near the eaves
While the chirping sparrows follow And the wheat clad valley leaves
Gone bed too are the breezes At rest the willow grove
Stillness the corn heart eases It is the hour of love
While the chirping sparrows follow And the wheat clad valley leaves
Gone bed too are the breezes At rest the willow grove
Stillness the corn heart eases It is the hour of love
When the sun like half a cheese Fast hides behind the hill
Wi' the maiden born to please How blest to be so still
To love her by the shed Agen the maple bower
When the bee is gone to bed And the dew is on the flower
Wi' the maiden born to please How blest to be so still
To love her by the shed Agen the maple bower
When the bee is gone to bed And the dew is on the flower
| The later poems of John Clare | |