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 eve winds of autumn blow chilly & hollow] |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
[The eve winds of autumn blow chilly & hollow]
The eve winds of autumn blow chilly & hollow
& leaves from our bower love[s] shelter has fell
& high in the air flock the martin & swallow
Retreating from tempests they truly foretell
Crizzled ryhmes on our rambles intrude late & early
& rains drizzle oft from the cloud frowning sky
No longer eve brings us our pleasures to parley
The free sweets of love & of summer is bye
& leaves from our bower love[s] shelter has fell
& high in the air flock the martin & swallow
Retreating from tempests they truly foretell
Crizzled ryhmes on our rambles intrude late & early
& rains drizzle oft from the cloud frowning sky
No longer eve brings us our pleasures to parley
The free sweets of love & of summer is bye
490
& now ye mun bide wi the brunts o' yer mamey
& crood over the fire in yer damps for awhile
For unlike the pleasures ye met wi yer sammey
When set side by side on a mol hill or stile
& fail ye not love of a hint dropt in season
To coax the old dame that yer lover may come
& if shes cross hoppled & deaf to all reason
Why then break yer tether & meet me from home
& crood over the fire in yer damps for awhile
For unlike the pleasures ye met wi yer sammey
When set side by side on a mol hill or stile
& fail ye not love of a hint dropt in season
To coax the old dame that yer lover may come
& if shes cross hoppled & deaf to all reason
Why then break yer tether & meet me from home
For come snow or rain or the foulest of weather
Hark sue to my consils & well ye may know
Theres nothing shall keep us from meeting together
If yer hearts as my heart blow high or blow low
& as the eves shorten & hurkle in colder
& as the brook crizzles & snows sither down
Yeve nothing to fear—throw yer cloak oer yer shoulder
& meet me as wont at the end of the town
Hark sue to my consils & well ye may know
Theres nothing shall keep us from meeting together
If yer hearts as my heart blow high or blow low
& as the eves shorten & hurkle in colder
& as the brook crizzles & snows sither down
Yeve nothing to fear—throw yer cloak oer yer shoulder
& meet me as wont at the end of the town
| The early poems of John Clare | |