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 |  |
COME SIT WI THE BIRDIES
Come sit wi the birdies thou bonny young maiden
The goud spink and Blackbird & don't be affraid
They sing where the Hawthorn the waterfall shading
Hangs over the gulf in May blossoms arrayed
In her Bridal white dress extending her arms
As if to embrace other bushes & may
Come love to green places in meadows & farms
And like the white thorn be thy love all the day
Where the yellow flag down by the meadow pool stood
And the pink ragged robin dips down to the flood
The goud spink and Blackbird & don't be affraid
They sing where the Hawthorn the waterfall shading
Hangs over the gulf in May blossoms arrayed
In her Bridal white dress extending her arms
As if to embrace other bushes & may
Come love to green places in meadows & farms
And like the white thorn be thy love all the day
Where the yellow flag down by the meadow pool stood
And the pink ragged robin dips down to the flood
How sweet bluims the paigle the gowan & primrose
Baith yellow and blue by the side o the burn
And under the gouden broom clearly the brook flows
You can just see the siller light now when it turns
I court thee my love in the language of truth
Awhile in the forest love let us sojourn
For loving and fond is the bosom of Ruth
Sae come and we'll wander away to the burn
And hear the Muir cock gie its heart stirring ca
Where the hay scented Thistle bluims bonny and bra
Baith yellow and blue by the side o the burn
And under the gouden broom clearly the brook flows
You can just see the siller light now when it turns
I court thee my love in the language of truth
Awhile in the forest love let us sojourn
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Sae come and we'll wander away to the burn
And hear the Muir cock gie its heart stirring ca
Where the hay scented Thistle bluims bonny and bra
We will mark the clear water that smooth[e]s the chaf'd pebble
And sit on the breckan bank crispy and green
Till it gets to a sand heap and scarcely can dribble
Washed up by the flood in the valleys so green
And there we'll both gang till the closing o' eve
And saftly I'll press the fond bosom of Ruth
While the Butterfly flutters to sit on her sleeve
I'll sit down and tell her a story of truth
We'll look oer a landscape as Eden divine
And I'll kiss and believe that Ruth she is mine
And sit on the breckan bank crispy and green
Till it gets to a sand heap and scarcely can dribble
Washed up by the flood in the valleys so green
And there we'll both gang till the closing o' eve
And saftly I'll press the fond bosom of Ruth
While the Butterfly flutters to sit on her sleeve
I'll sit down and tell her a story of truth
We'll look oer a landscape as Eden divine
And I'll kiss and believe that Ruth she is mine
| The later poems of John Clare | |