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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I LOVE THE BLUE VIOLET |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
I LOVE THE BLUE VIOLET
I love the blue violet that creeps on the mossy bank
And wood bell so purple wi green leaves so glossy rank
Where wild rabbits caper wi' many a tossy prank
And show their white shirts to the light
I love the mossy bank by the green hazle bush
I love the early song o' the brown missle thrush
And dairy decked mole hill i' beds o the tassle rush
I' the middle o' summers delight
And wood bell so purple wi green leaves so glossy rank
Where wild rabbits caper wi' many a tossy prank
And show their white shirts to the light
I love the mossy bank by the green hazle bush
I love the early song o' the brown missle thrush
And dairy decked mole hill i' beds o the tassle rush
I' the middle o' summers delight
But better than mossy banks twenty times over
Or wind waving rush beds the form of my lover
Sweet Susan as fair as the clumps o' white clover
Ever feeding the songs o' the bee
O' harmless as white legged lambs round the mole hills
Wi' her beauty and truth to o'er flowing the soul fills
On Susans white bosom a beauty spot mole hills
And makes her more dear to me
Or wind waving rush beds the form of my lover
Sweet Susan as fair as the clumps o' white clover
Ever feeding the songs o' the bee
815
Wi' her beauty and truth to o'er flowing the soul fills
On Susans white bosom a beauty spot mole hills
And makes her more dear to me
Her hair is as dark as the cloud i' the bright morn
Her bosom's as white as the flower o the white thorn
Her lips are as red as the rose bud i' light born
And dear is young Susan to me
I wooed her and won her and doatingly love her
And think her the lovliest all the world over
And sweeter than rose buds than red or white clover
Is bonny young Susan to me
Her bosom's as white as the flower o the white thorn
Her lips are as red as the rose bud i' light born
And dear is young Susan to me
I wooed her and won her and doatingly love her
And think her the lovliest all the world over
And sweeter than rose buds than red or white clover
Is bonny young Susan to me
| The later poems of John Clare | |