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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A RAPHSODY |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
A RAPHSODY
1
Sweet solitude what joy to be aloneIn wild wood shady dell to stay for hours
Twould soften hearts if they were hard as stone
To see glad Butterflies & smiling flowers
Tis pleasant in these quiet lonely places
Where not the voice of Man our pleasure mars
To see the little bees with coal black faces
Gath'ring sweets from little flowers like stars
2
The wind seems calling though not understoodA voice is speaking Hark! it louder calls
It echoes in the far outstretching wood
First twas a hum but now it loudly squalls
And then the pattering rain begins to fall
And tis hush'd—the fern leaves scarcely shake
The totter grass it scarcely stirs at all
And then the rolling thunder gets awake
And from black clouds the lightning flashes break
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3
Tis the Spring thunder storm and do I fearThose bursting claps and bellowing agonies
Of Thunder—I feel the earth shake here
While Heav'ns Artillery rends the very skies
Oh what a clap! Earth sent up no replies
But shuddered—Another clap came louder then
The lightning zigzagged in a lambent flame
Birds were all mute—Earth sobb'd & shook agen
The grunting Badger hurried to his den
And then there fell a bursting flood of rain
4
There is a fragrant freshness after showersIn the warm noon that smells o' the green grass
And herbage round almost as sweet as flowers
Rain on Furze bushes hangs like drops of glass
Beading the grass and bents upon the plain
Drabbling through wet the hare & rabbits pass
Through the brown fern they come again
There's health mid growing crops & fragrance in the rain
5
And there is freshness in the morning dewWith its mult[it]udinous drops of dusky glass
Fields, hedges, meadows one wide view
Of drops—Health in the very breezes as they pass
The winding foot path & the milking lass
The green thorn hedges little stiles and brigs
And shining lakes like sunshine upon glass
The arches where the swimming swallow bigs
Her nest—And ground Lark singing on land rigs
6
The Elm tree in its foliage wavers dullThe Oak tree opens leaf—a lovely green
Charming they look the wood is getting full
Of leaf—The spreading Oak is seen
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The small leav'd Poplar when all leaves are still
Trembles wi' Ague neath a sunny beam
Swift as a Courser goes the distant mill
And mournful waves the willow by the rill—
7
Theres sweet society in fields and woodsSweet are the pleasures mid the long love grass
I' lakes and rivers and in widest floods
That in the noon day shine like burnish'd glass
I like the wild flowers where the lone bees hum
The clouds which leave their shadows as they pass
They through the sky like ships & armies come
I hail thee Nature as my heritage and home
8
The sunshine's gone & now an April EveningCommences wi a dun and mackerel sky
Gold light & woolpacks in the west are leaving
And leaden streaks their splendid place supply
Sheep ointment seems to daub the dead hued sky
And night shuts up the lightsomeness of day
All dark & absent like a corpses eye
Flower, tree and bush like all the shadows grey
In leaden hues of desolation fade away—
9
Then comes the darkness in its deeper stainsOf midnight nothingness—nor sky nor earth
Is seen—blank indistinctiveness—nought remains
Of life—All stillness like to lonesome death
The darkness thickens fear walks and stops her breath
She dare not look behind—visions pursue—
Unseen she travels oer the lonely heath
And thinks it company to feel the dew
Till travels done and home appears in view
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10
Tis May and yet the March flower DandelionIs still in bloom among the Emerald grass
Shining like guineas with the suns warm eye on
We almost think they are gold as we pass
Or fallen stars on a green sea of grass
The[y] shine in fields on waste grounds near the town
They closed like painters brush when even was
At length they turn to nothing else but down
While the rude winds blow of[f] each shadowy crown
11
The woodbine in its blossoming all flowersShedding its perfumes wi the evening dew
Or early morn or after hasty showers
How sweet they smelt while on the hedge they grew
When I was seeking nests and nothing knew
But flowers my pastime ye delightful hours
How beautiful they are I dare not say adeiu
To flowers there is a charm, a witching in flowers—
Each spring is Heaven the rains and golden showers—
12
As twas at first so it is ever nowThe meadow King Cups and the daisey flower
Thickly they shine before the grazing cow
They seem to be the droppings of the shower
How soft the wind comes through the white thorn bowers
Each leaflet glistens with the pearls of rain
They glitter in the sun of the soft hours
The hedge row glistens with the pretty flowers
The Lark sings clear mounting the sky again
13
The new fallen rain lies upon grassy spearsLike beads or drops of pearl reviving all
That the hot day doth swelter—Bright appears
Again in wonted green The Larks loud call
Again is heard above the Waterfall
The trees drop water which to leaflet clings
Bird answers bird with an harmonious note
And the clear drops upon the tall grass hings
Slaking the thirst of thousand tiny things
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14
As one who long in populous city pentWanders the summers breezes to inhale
Among the pleasant farms & dew plash'd bents
I wander through the winding vale
How sweet the smell of grain of tedded grass or kine
How sweet the days o summer in his prime
How sweet the hayfields with the shocks all clear
Soft as a feather bed to sit or lie
And short and green as bowling greens appear
15
While all above the beautiful clear skyWhose clouds beyond like marble mountains lie
The new mown meadows by the running streams
These beauteous rural objects I descry
I love to see them when the low sun gleams
To watch the evetide & enjoy my summer dreams
16
Rich memory scenes are painted on the skyAnd other happy lands are passing in the clouds
In oriental beauties charming the minds eye
Eer even into night the Heaven shrouds
Sometimes a city with unnumbered crowds
Of kings and people in their majesty
While mountains upon mountains sunny brow'd
Climb to the very ceiling of the sky—
17
Travellers in sultry summer many a dayIve seen them journey through the sultry plain
Greeting their friends they meet upon the way
Then buzzing seek the mossy shade again
Hurrying it seemeth from the threatning rain
In humming notes of melody they sing
Still bottle green or black their coat remains
Fluttering from flower to flower on gauzy wing
Loving like bird companions of the spring
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18
How many a mile doth thy days journey leadWhile gathring honey over fell and tree
Or hoarded from the flower besprinkled mead
Gainst winters desolated hour of need
When ice & snow storms overspread the lea
And ice locks up the water round the reed
And nought but snows and nakedness we see
What then becometh of the busy bee—
19
Slow sails the crow upon the summer windThe mist like smoke keeps thickening in the sky
Sailing oer garden—field—a thing I mind
Swarth, black or dun how easily they fly
While underneath the waving meadows lie
Looking luxuriant where the waters flow
All wrinkled & reflects the clouded sky
The trees half leaving foliage do now show
This way and that way sails the sooty crow
20
The wind curves round & twirls & puffs & braysBoiling the wrinkled water like a fire
The grass it quakes & stirs a thousand ways
Trees rolling billows we so much admire
The grain swoops up in curves like to a spire
Then the scene's changed—mists clear away behind
The village steeple's seen with vane of fire
Trees grass & grain in merriest mind
Toss leap, and frisk in summers merry wind
21
Tossing the hay in every sort of formBoats leaves & lakes that suff the grass in waves
The real appearance of a green grass storm
In sparkling ripples & in billowy graves
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And sphinx & butterflies with painted wings
In droves from flower to flower pass o'er the waves
With honey bees & other bright wing'd things
That on the spear arm'd thistle cleans its wings
22
On broad leav'd sycamore is glaz'd the honey dewIn the hot noon & on the maple falls
And oak in woods & hedges—woodbines too
Sticks on the fingers which the tongue recalls
Sweet as the honey comb that seldom palls
The taste—seeth'd in the sunshine and the dew
Nectaranious sweet—I love the pleasant taste
Of sweets dispens'd by nature good and true
How wicked to destroy or rashly waste
| The later poems of John Clare | |