The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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[The crowing coks the morns for told] |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
[The crowing coks the morns for told]
The crowing coks the morns for told
The Sun begins to peep
And Shepherds Wistling to the Fold
Sets free the Captive Sheep
Oer pathless plains at early hours
The Sleepy Rustic goes
The dews brushd off from Gras & flowers
Bemoists his hardend Shoes
For every leaf that forms a shade
& flowrets silken top
& every shivering bent & blade
Bends with a pearly drop
But soon shall fly these pearly drops
The Sun advances higher
& stretching oer the mountain tops
Sweet Gilds the Village spire
Again the Bustling maiden seeks
Her Cleanly pale & now
Rivals the morn her Rosy Cheeks
& hastes to milk her Cow
While Echo tells her Collin near
Blythe Wistling oer the Hills
The Powerful Magic charms her ear
& thro her Bosom thrills
The Sun begins to peep
And Shepherds Wistling to the Fold
Sets free the Captive Sheep
Oer pathless plains at early hours
The Sleepy Rustic goes
The dews brushd off from Gras & flowers
Bemoists his hardend Shoes
243
& flowrets silken top
& every shivering bent & blade
Bends with a pearly drop
But soon shall fly these pearly drops
The Sun advances higher
& stretching oer the mountain tops
Sweet Gilds the Village spire
Again the Bustling maiden seeks
Her Cleanly pale & now
Rivals the morn her Rosy Cheeks
& hastes to milk her Cow
While Echo tells her Collin near
Blythe Wistling oer the Hills
The Powerful Magic charms her ear
& thro her Bosom thrills
Now Slow the hazy mist retires
A Wider Circle's seen
Thin Scatterd Huts & Neighbouring Spires
Augment the Bounded Scene
Brisk Winds the Lightnd Branches shake
By pattering Drops confest
& where Oaks Dripping shade the Lake
Prints Dimples on its Breast
The Larks now leave the tufted Corn
A Nightly Bed Supplies
& sweetly Singing hails the Morn
—A Minstrel in the Skies
On trembling Wings she leaves her home
& twitering Wistles loud
Now nearly lost a spot becomes
& mixes in a Cloud
O memory sweetner of my lays
What power belongs to thee
To paint the bliss of vanishd Days
& sweets of Infancy
When happy in our Golden hours
As free as air we range
When pleasure plucks her laughing flower
Unmindful of a change
A Wider Circle's seen
Thin Scatterd Huts & Neighbouring Spires
Augment the Bounded Scene
Brisk Winds the Lightnd Branches shake
By pattering Drops confest
& where Oaks Dripping shade the Lake
Prints Dimples on its Breast
The Larks now leave the tufted Corn
A Nightly Bed Supplies
& sweetly Singing hails the Morn
—A Minstrel in the Skies
On trembling Wings she leaves her home
& twitering Wistles loud
Now nearly lost a spot becomes
& mixes in a Cloud
244
What power belongs to thee
To paint the bliss of vanishd Days
& sweets of Infancy
When happy in our Golden hours
As free as air we range
When pleasure plucks her laughing flower
Unmindful of a change
| The early poems of John Clare | |