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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COME MARY ANN |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
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COME MARY ANN
The midges o'er the rivers dance
The reed blades rustle by the brim
The evening sun shineth askance
And on the quiet waters swims
In dewy light the hayfield dims
The firdales shew a gloomier green
Where Mary Ann her garden trims
And lives a rural life unseen
The reed blades rustle by the brim
The evening sun shineth askance
And on the quiet waters swims
In dewy light the hayfield dims
The firdales shew a gloomier green
Where Mary Ann her garden trims
And lives a rural life unseen
How beautiful the hot day turns
From dazzling light to grey serene
The scarlet poppy only burns
The winding river flows between
The white thorn hedges meadows green
The rising mists that visions weave
The sunshine blaze is now unseen
And quiet comes the gentle eve
From dazzling light to grey serene
The scarlet poppy only burns
The winding river flows between
The white thorn hedges meadows green
The rising mists that visions weave
The sunshine blaze is now unseen
And quiet comes the gentle eve
Come Mary Ann prepare to leave
Thy cottage by the rivers side
And we'll enjoy the hours of eve
And roam the meadows far & wide
And something more we'll do beside
Where lonely herons watch the pool
And fish turn up their silver sides
We'll wander neath the willows cool
Thy cottage by the rivers side
And we'll enjoy the hours of eve
And roam the meadows far & wide
And something more we'll do beside
Where lonely herons watch the pool
And fish turn up their silver sides
We'll wander neath the willows cool
Come Mary Ann in hat of straw
And shawl across thy shoulders thrown
The May flower now has turned to haw
The leaves about the place are strewn
Black snails we need not tread upon
A silver trail their jou[r]neys leave
So Mary put thy bonnet on
And share with me the sweets of eve
And shawl across thy shoulders thrown
The May flower now has turned to haw
The leaves about the place are strewn
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A silver trail their jou[r]neys leave
So Mary put thy bonnet on
And share with me the sweets of eve
| The later poems of John Clare | |