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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SLIGHTED LOVES LAST ADDRESS TO HIS MISTRESS |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
SLIGHTED LOVES LAST ADDRESS TO HIS MISTRESS
There will be a time from thy lover deserted
Thoult curse thy hot temper that coudnt agree
There will be a hour when the hour he departed
Thoult date all thy griefs & wish vainly for me
There will be a time I behold it too plainly
Thoult count the sweet joys which was witnessd before
Thoult sigh for the raptures of fondness but vainly
The kisses thy lips will be melting no more
Thoult curse thy hot temper that coudnt agree
There will be a hour when the hour he departed
Thoult date all thy griefs & wish vainly for me
There will be a time I behold it too plainly
Thoult count the sweet joys which was witnessd before
Thoult sigh for the raptures of fondness but vainly
The kisses thy lips will be melting no more
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The bud from its branches my luckless hand gatherd
Ive ravishd thy charms & woud nourish the tree
Thy beauty is gone ah thy rose bud is witherd
New love cannot warm to look kindly on thee
The world may comend thee as not to knock under
I wish thou maynt prove what I look on wi pain
But I doubt thou wilt find when were countys asunder
The world more decietful then him you disdain
Ive ravishd thy charms & woud nourish the tree
Thy beauty is gone ah thy rose bud is witherd
New love cannot warm to look kindly on thee
The world may comend thee as not to knock under
I wish thou maynt prove what I look on wi pain
But I doubt thou wilt find when were countys asunder
The world more decietful then him you disdain
When black gloomy night comes we look for a morning
The skys clear of clouds & suns shine after rain
But alas a long leaving without a returning
Stifle thy scorn & bethink ont again
Wornt near a tear witness repentance inclines thee
I go but o god who my anguish can tell
I go were my fate & misfortunes resign me
& if my heart breaks I must bid thee farwell
The skys clear of clouds & suns shine after rain
But alas a long leaving without a returning
Stifle thy scorn & bethink ont again
Wornt near a tear witness repentance inclines thee
I go but o god who my anguish can tell
I go were my fate & misfortunes resign me
& if my heart breaks I must bid thee farwell
| The early poems of John Clare | |