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
[I peeled bits o straws and I got switches too]
I peeled bits o straws and I got switches too
From the grey peeling Willow as Idlers do
And I switched at the flyes as I sat all alone
Till my flesh blood & marrow wasted to dry bone
My illness was love though I knew not the smart
But the beauty o love was the blood o my heart
From the grey peeling Willow as Idlers do
And I switched at the flyes as I sat all alone
Till my flesh blood & marrow wasted to dry bone
My illness was love though I knew not the smart
But the beauty o love was the blood o my heart
Crowded places I shunned them as noises to[o] rude
And flew to the silence of sweet solitude
Where the flower in green darkness, buds, blossoms & fades
Unseen of a shepherds & flower loving maids
The hermit bees find them but once & away
There I'll burry alive & in silence decay
And flew to the silence of sweet solitude
Where the flower in green darkness, buds, blossoms & fades
Unseen of a shepherds & flower loving maids
907
There I'll burry alive & in silence decay
I looked on the eyes o' fair woman too long
Till silence and shame stole the use o' my tongue
When I tried to speak to her Id. nothing to say
So I turned myself round & she wandered away
When she got too far off—why Id. something to tell
So I sent sighs behind her & talked to my sell
Till silence and shame stole the use o' my tongue
When I tried to speak to her Id. nothing to say
So I turned myself round & she wandered away
When she got too far off—why Id. something to tell
So I sent sighs behind her & talked to my sell
Willow switches I broke, & I peeled bits o straws
Ever lonely in crowds in natures own laws
My ball room the pasture my music the Bees
My drink was the fountain my church the tall trees
Whoever would love or be tied to a wife
When it makes a man mad a' the days o' his life
Ever lonely in crowds in natures own laws
My ball room the pasture my music the Bees
My drink was the fountain my church the tall trees
Whoever would love or be tied to a wife
When it makes a man mad a' the days o' his life
| The later poems of John Clare | |