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. |
|
I WISH I WAS A LITTLE BIRD |
|
| 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 |  |
I WISH I WAS A LITTLE BIRD
I wish I was a little bird
To sing in my loves ear
The dearest tale that e'er was heard
Mary Boyfield she should hear
I love'd her in [my] early days
And I love her dearly still
From all she meets with willing praise
And no one means her ill—
To sing in my loves ear
The dearest tale that e'er was heard
Mary Boyfield she should hear
I love'd her in [my] early days
And I love her dearly still
From all she meets with willing praise
And no one means her ill—
I wish I was a little bird
To whistle in her ear
A song by nature never heard
As tender as tis dear
To wake the soul up in her eyes
The love within her breast
And all those happy extacies
Where love with her doth rest—
To whistle in her ear
A song by nature never heard
As tender as tis dear
To wake the soul up in her eyes
The love within her breast
And all those happy extacies
Where love with her doth rest—
1018
Could I with Mary Boyfield be
A singing little bird
I'd sing her songs of mirth and glee
As love has never heard
I'd kiss the moles upon her breast
The roses on her cheeks
And that should be my place of rest
For hours and days aye weeks
A singing little bird
I'd sing her songs of mirth and glee
As love has never heard
I'd kiss the moles upon her breast
The roses on her cheeks
And that should be my place of rest
For hours and days aye weeks
The violets o the hedge and grove
The brere hedge roses grace
But sweet is Mary Boyfields love
Tis blushing in her face
Oh! could I all my secret tell
Could I that maid caress
The maiden I do love so well
Id all my love confess—
The brere hedge roses grace
But sweet is Mary Boyfields love
Tis blushing in her face
Oh! could I all my secret tell
Could I that maid caress
The maiden I do love so well
Id all my love confess—
There's nothing in the world so sweet
There's nought so fair to see
So choice so lovely and complete
As my Mary is to me
Oh! would I were the little bird
That sings in yonder grove
I'd sing the song that neer was heard
O' bonny Mary's love—
There's nought so fair to see
So choice so lovely and complete
As my Mary is to me
Oh! would I were the little bird
That sings in yonder grove
I'd sing the song that neer was heard
O' bonny Mary's love—
| The later poems of John Clare | |