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
[My buxome young Lassie my bonny young Lassie]
My buxome young Lassie my bonny young Lassie
To see thy white bosom I'm all of a flutter
My bonny young lassie theres nought to surpass ye
While staring afore thee I nothing can utter
Words broken in halves make me stutter and stammer
I ache to say something but cant get [it] out
A frown from thy face love is like a sledge hammer
Mashing bones into powder and knocking brains out
To see thy white bosom I'm all of a flutter
My bonny young lassie theres nought to surpass ye
While staring afore thee I nothing can utter
Words broken in halves make me stutter and stammer
I ache to say something but cant get [it] out
A frown from thy face love is like a sledge hammer
Mashing bones into powder and knocking brains out
906
But the look o thy smile love is soft as a feather
And the hue o thy bosom is whiter than down
We'd both be in heaven love completed together
God 'd may be sent Angels as comforters down
My fair bonny lassie my dear bonny Lassie
Thy face is as sweet as the rose bloom o June
Thy eyes are as bright as the brooks while they pass ye
And thy voice like the Nightingales sweetly i' tune
And the hue o thy bosom is whiter than down
We'd both be in heaven love completed together
God 'd may be sent Angels as comforters down
My fair bonny lassie my dear bonny Lassie
Thy face is as sweet as the rose bloom o June
Thy eyes are as bright as the brooks while they pass ye
And thy voice like the Nightingales sweetly i' tune
My happy young maiden my bonny young maiden
As dear as the Apple & light o' my eye
How rich is thy beauty arrayed in the Plaiden
The rose on thy cheek wears an heavenly dye
Thy legs & thy arms are the marble o nature
Thy bosoms the seat & the pillow o joy
Come to my arms thou divinest young creature
And let me enfold thee all blushing & coy
As dear as the Apple & light o' my eye
How rich is thy beauty arrayed in the Plaiden
The rose on thy cheek wears an heavenly dye
Thy legs & thy arms are the marble o nature
Thy bosoms the seat & the pillow o joy
Come to my arms thou divinest young creature
And let me enfold thee all blushing & coy
| The later poems of John Clare | |