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 later poems of John Clare |  |
SONG
[The spring has been here just one week]
The spring has been here just one week
These snow drops tell the time
I came here then spring flowers to seek
And now they're just in prime
My Jinney's neck's as white as they
Her cheek is much more dear
And what o love I'm going to say
Will Jinney stand to hear
These snow drops tell the time
I came here then spring flowers to seek
And now they're just in prime
My Jinney's neck's as white as they
Her cheek is much more dear
And what o love I'm going to say
Will Jinney stand to hear
894
Is Jinney's memory a' away
When snow drops speak so plain
She said she'd no more answer ‘nay’
When spring flowers came again
And here they drop like blebs o' snow
Sae beautifully fair
Which Susan cropt a year ago
And wore them in her hair
When snow drops speak so plain
She said she'd no more answer ‘nay’
When spring flowers came again
And here they drop like blebs o' snow
Sae beautifully fair
Which Susan cropt a year ago
And wore them in her hair
The flowers are speaking Jinneys words
What she a year ago
Said to herself among these herds
When I kept teasing so
She said I teased—I only sat
And sued one kiss in vain
She said she'd grant me more than that
When snow drops came again
What she a year ago
Said to herself among these herds
When I kept teasing so
She said I teased—I only sat
And sued one kiss in vain
She said she'd grant me more than that
When snow drops came again
And they are come and Jinneys here
Bees seek their faint perfume
But Jinney nips the wild sweet brere
And wont look where they bloom
The swain got up from the molehill
Jinney nae longer teased
He caught her with his heart all chill
To court her as he pleased
Bees seek their faint perfume
But Jinney nips the wild sweet brere
And wont look where they bloom
The swain got up from the molehill
Jinney nae longer teased
He caught her with his heart all chill
To court her as he pleased
| The later poems of John Clare | |