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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‘BONNY DARK EYED SUSAN’ |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
861
‘BONNY DARK EYED SUSAN’
The woodbine in the hedge row smells beautiful o' thee
I always love the treling flower but thou 'rt more dear to me
When ere I see thee coming o'er the mornings misty dew
With thy coats held to thy anckles while pewets oer thee flew
While the hooks upon the bramble and the spines upon the brere
Hung dewy drops like pearls upon a Lady's ear
The woodbines in the hedge row are nothing near so sweet
As are the lips o' Susan when we at even meet
I always love the treling flower but thou 'rt more dear to me
When ere I see thee coming o'er the mornings misty dew
With thy coats held to thy anckles while pewets oer thee flew
While the hooks upon the bramble and the spines upon the brere
Hung dewy drops like pearls upon a Lady's ear
The woodbines in the hedge row are nothing near so sweet
As are the lips o' Susan when we at even meet
O Susan lovely Susan how sweet you are to me
When woodbines on the dewy hedge smell all o' love and thee
O'er the path the Barley now hangs his dewy beard
I the hazel and the awthorn the Nightingale is heard
Round hemlock flowers and kecksies fly's many a painted moth
The Owl hoots from the Ivy tree the Moon is shining forth
Wi' Susan in my arms neath the grey willow tree
By the Moon light river side how happy I should be
When woodbines on the dewy hedge smell all o' love and thee
O'er the path the Barley now hangs his dewy beard
I the hazel and the awthorn the Nightingale is heard
Round hemlock flowers and kecksies fly's many a painted moth
The Owl hoots from the Ivy tree the Moon is shining forth
Wi' Susan in my arms neath the grey willow tree
By the Moon light river side how happy I should be
Sweeter than o'er hanging branch o' crimson threaded May
Is bonny dark eyed Susan upon her evening way
Or beds o' purple Violets on green silk mosses prest
She stoops a down to gather them and place them in her breast
Breast softer far than eider down and whiter far than snow
Or clumps o' pure white violets that under hedges grow
O Susan is the sweetest girl that eyes did ever see
When she comes down by the bramble hedge at close o' day to me
Is bonny dark eyed Susan upon her evening way
Or beds o' purple Violets on green silk mosses prest
She stoops a down to gather them and place them in her breast
Breast softer far than eider down and whiter far than snow
Or clumps o' pure white violets that under hedges grow
O Susan is the sweetest girl that eyes did ever see
When she comes down by the bramble hedge at close o' day to me
| The later poems of John Clare | |