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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AN ANGEL IN THE SUMMER HOURS |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
1037
AN ANGEL IN THE SUMMER HOURS
In the bloom of June arrayed
When the grass is fit to mow
Barley spindling in the blade
And the turnips on the grow
Beside the meadow bank
I lay gazing at the sky
The cows stared round & drank
When a maiden passed me by
In hat of straw & ribbons gay
Her face like roses all the way
When the grass is fit to mow
Barley spindling in the blade
And the turnips on the grow
Beside the meadow bank
I lay gazing at the sky
The cows stared round & drank
When a maiden passed me by
In hat of straw & ribbons gay
Her face like roses all the way
The thistle flowers with prickles burred
The blue caps in the corn so blue
Hot headaches like a fire new stirred
Nigh burnt the lookers through
So burnt her cheek aneath the sun
Her dark brown hair was hung in curls
She stood where meadow waters run
And deeply rolled with frothy swirls
Through flag clumps full o yellow flowers
An angel in the summer hours—
The blue caps in the corn so blue
Hot headaches like a fire new stirred
Nigh burnt the lookers through
So burnt her cheek aneath the sun
Her dark brown hair was hung in curls
She stood where meadow waters run
And deeply rolled with frothy swirls
Through flag clumps full o yellow flowers
An angel in the summer hours—
I said some words and she replied
And pauzeing tied her hat anew
Red hot grew poppies by her side
And blue caps most divinely blue
I would have kiss'd her on the cheek
Her dimsey waist I long'd to span
But purling like a silver streak
Between us both the waters ran
A lone and undivided lot
Soft words and looks were all I got
And pauzeing tied her hat anew
Red hot grew poppies by her side
And blue caps most divinely blue
I would have kiss'd her on the cheek
Her dimsey waist I long'd to span
But purling like a silver streak
Between us both the waters ran
A lone and undivided lot
Soft words and looks were all I got
1038
I saw her in the meadow lake
In every flower the maid appear'd
The lark seem'd singing for her sake
And every bloom the maid endeared
In fancy's ear she spoke as plain
And soft and lovely as before
My eyes looked after her in vain
And saw the meadow as before
Yet till the mirk eve lowered the sky
Her spirit seem'd as lingering nigh
In every flower the maid appear'd
The lark seem'd singing for her sake
And every bloom the maid endeared
In fancy's ear she spoke as plain
And soft and lovely as before
My eyes looked after her in vain
And saw the meadow as before
Yet till the mirk eve lowered the sky
Her spirit seem'd as lingering nigh
| The later poems of John Clare | |