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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BALLAD
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
497
BALLAD
[O Ope thy door—loud howls the wind]
O Ope thy door—loud howls the wind
On my nak'd misery
Tho thou to me hast provd unkind
I meant no harm to thee
Im loath to break thy peacful rest
But chilly falls the rain
The storm cuts deep my bared breast
But not like thy disdain
On my nak'd misery
Tho thou to me hast provd unkind
I meant no harm to thee
Im loath to break thy peacful rest
But chilly falls the rain
The storm cuts deep my bared breast
But not like thy disdain
Loves tender pledge wi' in my arms
Is numb'd & breaths no more
O if thy heart wi pity warms
Awake & ope thy door
I have no cloaths to shelter me
A fathers scorn I flye
Worse pelts the storm love pity me
Or at thy door I dye
Is numb'd & breaths no more
O if thy heart wi pity warms
Awake & ope thy door
I have no cloaths to shelter me
A fathers scorn I flye
Worse pelts the storm love pity me
Or at thy door I dye
Thus wailing oer her woes—a maid
To her seducer came
Who won her heart—her love betrayd
& left her to her shame
The shelter of her house denyd
Her fathers scorn she bore
Here to her false loves house she hied
‘O william ope thy door’
To her seducer came
Who won her heart—her love betrayd
& left her to her shame
The shelter of her house denyd
Her fathers scorn she bore
Here to her false loves house she hied
‘O william ope thy door’
The storm I longer cannot stand
My covering is but thin
My babe falls from my knumbing hand
O wake & let me in
That once red cheek is cold to touch
That warmd in thine embrace
When kissd & praisd by the[e] so much
& ownd a lovly face
My covering is but thin
My babe falls from my knumbing hand
O wake & let me in
498
That warmd in thine embrace
When kissd & praisd by the[e] so much
& ownd a lovly face
But cropt by thee my bloom is gone
—Loves pledge in death doth sleep
O bitter cold the storms keeps on
I woud but cannot weep
Ah wilt thou not my false love wake
—In vain the maiden cried
Benumbd wi cold her heart did brake
She sat her down & dyd
—Loves pledge in death doth sleep
O bitter cold the storms keeps on
I woud but cannot weep
Ah wilt thou not my false love wake
—In vain the maiden cried
Benumbd wi cold her heart did brake
She sat her down & dyd
| The early poems of John Clare | |