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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IT WAS A PLEASANT EVENING |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
842
IT WAS A PLEASANT EVENING
It was a pleasant Evening the bee had gone to rest
I' the bosom of the dogrose the sun sunk in the West
And left in Western heaven its own refulgent dye
Pink as Dianas Nipples blue as Urana's eye
And white as Phebe's bosom are the snow banks o' the West
All littered wi' blue violets i' the Mansions o the West
Where womans thoughts reposes in her childhood with her Child
And never was the Evening so beautiful and mild
I' the bosom of the dogrose the sun sunk in the West
And left in Western heaven its own refulgent dye
Pink as Dianas Nipples blue as Urana's eye
And white as Phebe's bosom are the snow banks o' the West
All littered wi' blue violets i' the Mansions o the West
Where womans thoughts reposes in her childhood with her Child
And never was the Evening so beautiful and mild
The broom flower was as yellow as a new found rock o' Gold
And the evening gloamed as mellow as my eyes did e'er behold
The Mountains a' looked golden up to their very tops
And some went in the blue so far as if they wanted props
The dew more clear than silver 'gan to glitter on a' things
To heather flowers and broom like beads o' pearl in strings
It was a lovely evening ever speckled with the dew
The Earth was of a' colours the sky was gold and blue
And the evening gloamed as mellow as my eyes did e'er behold
The Mountains a' looked golden up to their very tops
And some went in the blue so far as if they wanted props
The dew more clear than silver 'gan to glitter on a' things
To heather flowers and broom like beads o' pearl in strings
It was a lovely evening ever speckled with the dew
The Earth was of a' colours the sky was gold and blue
And lovely was the Maiden encircled in my arms
Her heart was beating rarely i' the warmth o' loves alarms
Her face was like the heather and Inky black her hair
And whiter than the lily was her bonny bosom bare
I held [her] in my arms and I kissed her in the broom
And beautiful carnations red upon her cheeks did come
I kissed her i' the green broom i' extacys delight
Then went home to her Cottage and kissed [her] a' the night
Her heart was beating rarely i' the warmth o' loves alarms
Her face was like the heather and Inky black her hair
And whiter than the lily was her bonny bosom bare
I held [her] in my arms and I kissed her in the broom
And beautiful carnations red upon her cheeks did come
I kissed her i' the green broom i' extacys delight
Then went home to her Cottage and kissed [her] a' the night
| The later poems of John Clare | |