 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
291
PASTORAL POESY
True poesy is not in words
But images that thoughts express
By which the simplest hearts are stirred
To elevated happiness
But images that thoughts express
By which the simplest hearts are stirred
To elevated happiness
Mere books would be but useless things
Where none had taste or mind to read
Like unknown lands where beauty springs
& none are there to heed
Where none had taste or mind to read
Like unknown lands where beauty springs
& none are there to heed
But poesy is a language meet
& fields are every ones employ
The wild flower neath the shepherds feet
Looks up & gives him joy
& fields are every ones employ
The wild flower neath the shepherds feet
Looks up & gives him joy
A language that is ever green
That feelings unto all impart
As awthorn blossoms soon as seen
Give may to every heart
That feelings unto all impart
As awthorn blossoms soon as seen
Give may to every heart
The pictures that our summer minds
In summers dwellings meet
The fancys that the shepherd finds
To make his leisure sweet
In summers dwellings meet
The fancys that the shepherd finds
To make his leisure sweet
The dustmills that the cowboy delves
In banks for dust to run
Creates a summer in ourselves
He does as we have done
In banks for dust to run
Creates a summer in ourselves
He does as we have done
An image to the mind is brought
Where happiness enjoys
An easy thoughtlessness of thought
& meets excess of joys
Where happiness enjoys
An easy thoughtlessness of thought
& meets excess of joys
The world is in that little spot
With him—& all beside
Is nothing all a life forgot
In feelings satisfied
With him—& all beside
Is nothing all a life forgot
In feelings satisfied
& such is poesy its power
May varied lights employ
Yet to all mind it gives the dower
Of self creating joy
May varied lights employ
292
Of self creating joy
& wether it be hill or moor
I feel where e'er I go
A silence that discourses more
Then any tongue can do
I feel where e'er I go
A silence that discourses more
Then any tongue can do
Unruffled quietness hath made
A peace in every place
& woods are resting in their shade
Of social lonliness
A peace in every place
& woods are resting in their shade
Of social lonliness
The storm from which the shepherd turns
To pull his beaver down
While he upon the heath sojourns
Which autumn bleaches brown
To pull his beaver down
While he upon the heath sojourns
Which autumn bleaches brown
Is music aye & more indeed
To those of musing mind
Who through the yellow woods proceed
& listen to the wind
To those of musing mind
Who through the yellow woods proceed
& listen to the wind
The poet in his fitful glee
& fancys many moods
Meets it as some strange melody
& poem of the woods
& fancys many moods
Meets it as some strange melody
& poem of the woods
It sings & whistles in his mind
& then it talks aloud
While by some leaning tree reclined
He shuns a coming cloud
& then it talks aloud
While by some leaning tree reclined
He shuns a coming cloud
That sails its bulk against the sun
A mountain in the light
He heeds not for the storm begun
But dallys with delight
A mountain in the light
He heeds not for the storm begun
But dallys with delight
& now a harp that flings around
The music of the wind
The poet often hears the sound
When beauty fills the mind
The music of the wind
The poet often hears the sound
When beauty fills the mind
293
The morn with safforn strips & grey
Or blushing to the view
Like summer fields when run away
In weeds of crimson hue
Or blushing to the view
Like summer fields when run away
In weeds of crimson hue
Will simple shepherds' hearts imbue
With natures poesy
Who inly fancy while they view
How grand must heaven be
With natures poesy
Who inly fancy while they view
How grand must heaven be
With every musing mind she steals
Attendance on their way
The simplest thing her heart reveals
Is seldom thrown away
Attendance on their way
The simplest thing her heart reveals
Is seldom thrown away
The old man full of leisure hours
Sits cutting at his door
Rude fancy sticks to tye his flowers
—They're sticks & nothing more
Sits cutting at his door
Rude fancy sticks to tye his flowers
—They're sticks & nothing more
With many passing by his door
But pleasure has its bent
With him 'tis happiness & more
Heart satisfied content
But pleasure has its bent
With him 'tis happiness & more
Heart satisfied content
Those box edged borders that impart
Their fragrance near his door
Hath been the comfort of his heart
For sixty years & more
Their fragrance near his door
Hath been the comfort of his heart
For sixty years & more
That mossy thatch above his head
In winters drifting showers
To him & his old partner made
A music many hours
In winters drifting showers
To him & his old partner made
A music many hours
It patted to their hearts a joy
That humble comfort made
A little fire to keep them dry
& shelter over head
That humble comfort made
A little fire to keep them dry
& shelter over head
& such no matter what they call
Each all are nothing less
Then poesys power that gives to all
A cheerful blessedness
Each all are nothing less
Then poesys power that gives to all
A cheerful blessedness
294
So would I my own mind employ
& my own heart impress
That poesy's self's a dwelling joy
Of humble quietness
& my own heart impress
That poesy's self's a dwelling joy
Of humble quietness
So would I for the biding joy
That to such thoughts belong
That I lifes errand may employ
As harmless as a song
That to such thoughts belong
That I lifes errand may employ
As harmless as a song
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |