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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‘THE BONNY GIPSEY’ |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
‘THE BONNY GIPSEY’
The beautiful Maria is a bonny Gipsey girl
Her cheeks are like June roses and her teeth are like the pearl
Her hair is hazel brown and her eye the Violet hue
And my bonny young Maria sleeps in the nightly dew
And I would gie her chains o' gold all set wi studs o pearl
For nothing but to win the love o the bonny gipsey girl
Her cheeks are like June roses and her teeth are like the pearl
Her hair is hazel brown and her eye the Violet hue
And my bonny young Maria sleeps in the nightly dew
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For nothing but to win the love o the bonny gipsey girl
She is the bonny gipsey and the fairest maid to me
And sweeter than the May flower upon the awthorn tree
And on the cowslip green by the bonny hedge row side
In her cozey blanket camp sweet Maria will abide
While on the oak tree bough the woodbine blossoms curl
And dearly in my heart do I love the gipsey girl
And sweeter than the May flower upon the awthorn tree
And on the cowslip green by the bonny hedge row side
In her cozey blanket camp sweet Maria will abide
While on the oak tree bough the woodbine blossoms curl
And dearly in my heart do I love the gipsey girl
Tanned with the summer sunshine she's like the berry brown
Yet true love fancy's none so fair that dwell in any town
Her eyes more bright than dew drops when morns sun glitters through
Her lips more red than coral that in the Ocean grew
Sweet as the wild hedge rose and the woodbines fragrant curl
Where she camps beneath their shadows is the bonny gipsey girl
Yet true love fancy's none so fair that dwell in any town
Her eyes more bright than dew drops when morns sun glitters through
Her lips more red than coral that in the Ocean grew
Sweet as the wild hedge rose and the woodbines fragrant curl
Where she camps beneath their shadows is the bonny gipsey girl
The beautiful Maria she can chuse a pleasant seat
Where wild thyme clothes the bank and summer winds blow sweet
She can sit beneath the May bush and feel herself as fair
While she thinks upon the gipsey lad for ever absent there
Where wild thyme clothes the bank and summer winds blow sweet
She can sit beneath the May bush and feel herself as fair
While she thinks upon the gipsey lad for ever absent there
| The later poems of John Clare | |