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 early poems of John Clare |  |
30
THE INVOCATION
How mournful glides this purling streem
Ye oaks how lonley do ye seem
The thickett and the grove
From whence the cause?—this strikes me near
I need not ask 't'is B[etse]y dear
Her whom I truly love
Ye oaks how lonley do ye seem
The thickett and the grove
From whence the cause?—this strikes me near
I need not ask 't'is B[etse]y dear
Her whom I truly love
She loves the wispers of your trees
She loves the evenings cooling breeze
She loves to walk the grove
But now she's absent while I stray
Then O! what can these sighs convey
And truly tell my love
She loves the evenings cooling breeze
She loves to walk the grove
But now she's absent while I stray
Then O! what can these sighs convey
And truly tell my love
Can you ye breeze's oak's or streem
Can you in thought in form or dream
A lovers herald prove?
They wisper ‘yes’ O! precious scenes
I love your shades of various greens
Go truly tell my love
Can you in thought in form or dream
A lovers herald prove?
They wisper ‘yes’ O! precious scenes
I love your shades of various greens
Go truly tell my love
And first this flower shall be addrest
Perhaps the first by B[etse]y prest
When hither she does rove
O! charming flower if ever she
Should press the velvet leaves like me
Ne'er fail to tell my love
Perhaps the first by B[etse]y prest
When hither she does rove
O! charming flower if ever she
Should press the velvet leaves like me
Ne'er fail to tell my love
31
But in a softer sweeter strain
From thy perfuming sweets complain
As ever yet could move
For know she's fickle as shes fair
Then charming flower dont dally there
But quickly tell my love
From thy perfuming sweets complain
As ever yet could move
For know she's fickle as shes fair
Then charming flower dont dally there
But quickly tell my love
And you ye breezes bland and cool
That bend the reed along the pool
And shake the aspin grove
My wailings waft where B[etse]y lies
Hide nothing tending to suprise
But truly tell my love
That bend the reed along the pool
And shake the aspin grove
My wailings waft where B[etse]y lies
Hide nothing tending to suprise
But truly tell my love
And O! ye shadowey clouds that flie
Beneath the blue ethereal skie
And in due order move
When ere ye fall in showers of rain
Beat in her ear a pensive strain
And truly tell my love
Beneath the blue ethereal skie
And in due order move
When ere ye fall in showers of rain
Beat in her ear a pensive strain
And truly tell my love
Thou night which so at ease can wear
Each visionary form—be there
And oer her pillow move
Wrapt in my shade with streeming eye
Mourn forth her name then heave a sigh
And truly tell my love
Each visionary form—be there
And oer her pillow move
Wrapt in my shade with streeming eye
Mourn forth her name then heave a sigh
And truly tell my love
And still within this mazy round
Is there aught else that can be found
Succesfully to prove?
This brook might take—but then alas!
She might be absent when they pass
And never hear my love
Is there aught else that can be found
Succesfully to prove?
This brook might take—but then alas!
She might be absent when they pass
And never hear my love
32
But O! yon bird might easy gain
Reception for my abscent pain
Then haste thee gentle dove
Coo in her ear my lonley fate
As soft as to thy own dear mate
And truly tell my love
Reception for my abscent pain
Then haste thee gentle dove
Coo in her ear my lonley fate
As soft as to thy own dear mate
And truly tell my love
And thou blest fancy deign to lend
Thy kind assistance to a friend
Which might so usful prove
Go haunt her by each pebly stream
In pensive mood or soothing dream
Most truly tell my love
Thy kind assistance to a friend
Which might so usful prove
Go haunt her by each pebly stream
In pensive mood or soothing dream
Most truly tell my love
Then this is all I ask ye powers
Enough the breezes birds and showers
With flowrets of the grove
O! when my charmer comes this way
Each one this only charge convey
To truly tell my love
Enough the breezes birds and showers
With flowrets of the grove
O! when my charmer comes this way
Each one this only charge convey
To truly tell my love
| The early poems of John Clare | |