The later poems of John Clare 1837-1864 ... General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
 | I. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 1. |
| II. |
|
‘THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE TIME’ |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
| 27. |
| 28. |
| 29. |
| 30. |
| 31. |
| 32. |
 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
885
‘THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE TIME’
Now the wheat is in the ear And the rose is on the brere
And blue caps so divinely blue With corn poppy's o' scarlet hue
Maiden at the close o' Eve Wilt thou dear thy Cottage leave
And walk with one that loves thee
And blue caps so divinely blue With corn poppy's o' scarlet hue
Maiden at the close o' Eve Wilt thou dear thy Cottage leave
And walk with one that loves thee
When the Evens tiney tears Beads upon the horny spears
And the spiders lace wets through With its pinhead blebs o' dew
Wilt thou lay thy work aside And walk by brooklets dim descried
When my delight could love thee
And the spiders lace wets through With its pinhead blebs o' dew
Wilt thou lay thy work aside And walk by brooklets dim descried
When my delight could love thee
While thy footfall lightly prest Tramples bye the skylarks nest
And the cockles streaky eyes Marks the snug place where it lies
Mary lay thy work away And walk at dewey close o' day
With me to kiss and love thee
And the cockles streaky eyes Marks the snug place where it lies
Mary lay thy work away And walk at dewey close o' day
With me to kiss and love thee
There's something i' the time so sweet When lovers i' the evening meet
The air so still the sky so mild Like slumbers o' the cradled child
The moon looks over fields o' love Among the Ivy sleeps the dove
To see thee is to love thee
The air so still the sky so mild Like slumbers o' the cradled child
The moon looks over fields o' love Among the Ivy sleeps the dove
To see thee is to love thee
886
So come my mary now's the hour To feel the evenings soothing power
The ladybird has sought repose On golden pillows in the rose
The white moths round the white thorn bush On its blue eggs sits the thrush
And I'll ever after love thee
The ladybird has sought repose On golden pillows in the rose
The white moths round the white thorn bush On its blue eggs sits the thrush
And I'll ever after love thee
| The later poems of John Clare | |