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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ABOVE THE BROOK THE MIDGE'S PLAY |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
ABOVE THE BROOK THE MIDGE'S PLAY
Above the bruik the midges play
The Stickleback below
Glides like a nimble shade away
Home flops the weary crow
To neighbouring woods & hedgerow trees
And milkmaids that scarce bruize the grass
With kerchief open to the breeze
Along the pastures pass
The Stickleback below
Glides like a nimble shade away
Home flops the weary crow
To neighbouring woods & hedgerow trees
And milkmaids that scarce bruize the grass
With kerchief open to the breeze
Along the pastures pass
Her bosom bare her cap untied
She's like a wilding rose
That grows agen the pasture side
And like the sunset glows
Merriest sounds at close of day
Come fra her cherry lips
The crickets stop their evening lay
As light the maiden trips
She's like a wilding rose
That grows agen the pasture side
And like the sunset glows
Merriest sounds at close of day
Come fra her cherry lips
The crickets stop their evening lay
As light the maiden trips
The dews are mizzling on her cheek
Like smallest kind of rain
The woodbine with its ruddy streak
Smells half as sweet again
The king cups growing on the green
Spangle like sparks o' fire
And like to blinking stars are seen
As days last shades retire
Like smallest kind of rain
The woodbine with its ruddy streak
Smells half as sweet again
1079
Spangle like sparks o' fire
And like to blinking stars are seen
As days last shades retire
The swallow tumbles o'er the bush
A moment and is lost
Then through the pasture gateways rush
As though they'd hit the post
Their wings of sooty eve the hue
Like a dark spot he seems
They whisk along through evening dew
Like one o evening dreams
A moment and is lost
Then through the pasture gateways rush
As though they'd hit the post
Their wings of sooty eve the hue
Like a dark spot he seems
They whisk along through evening dew
Like one o evening dreams
The bramble bushes and sheep tracks
Of milk & water flowers
Their hue is neither white or black
As they bluim in dusky hours
Oh Lucy with thy bonnet on
Were thou but standing here
I would not envy any one
This evetide would be dear
Of milk & water flowers
Their hue is neither white or black
As they bluim in dusky hours
Oh Lucy with thy bonnet on
Were thou but standing here
I would not envy any one
This evetide would be dear
| The later poems of John Clare | |