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 FIRST OF MAY |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
519
THE FIRST OF MAY
A BALLAD
Fair blooms the rose upon the green,
Pretending to excel;
But who another rose has seen,
A different tale can tell.
The morning smiles, the lark's begun
To welcome in the May:
Be cloudless, skies! look out, bright sun!
And haste my love away.
Pretending to excel;
But who another rose has seen,
A different tale can tell.
The morning smiles, the lark's begun
To welcome in the May:
Be cloudless, skies! look out, bright sun!
And haste my love away.
Though graceful round the maidens move,
That join the rural ball,
Soon shall they own my absent love
The rival of them all.
Go, wake your shepherdess, ye lambs!
And murmur her delay:
Chide her neglect, ye hoarser dams!
And call my love away.
That join the rural ball,
Soon shall they own my absent love
The rival of them all.
Go, wake your shepherdess, ye lambs!
And murmur her delay:
Chide her neglect, ye hoarser dams!
And call my love away.
Ye happy swains, with each a bride,
Were but the angel there,
While slighted maids despair'd and sigh'd,
You'd court th'unequall'd fair.
Dry up, ye dews! nor threat'ning hing,
To soil her best array:
Ye birds! with double vigour sing,
And urge my love away.
Were but the angel there,
While slighted maids despair'd and sigh'd,
You'd court th'unequall'd fair.
Dry up, ye dews! nor threat'ning hing,
To soil her best array:
Ye birds! with double vigour sing,
And urge my love away.
520
Welcome, sun! the dews are fled,
The lark has rais'd his song;
The daisy nauntles up its head,—
Why waits my love so long?
As flowrets fade, the pleasures bloom,
All hastening to decay:
The day steals on, and showers may come:
This instant haste away.
The lark has rais'd his song;
The daisy nauntles up its head,—
Why waits my love so long?
As flowrets fade, the pleasures bloom,
All hastening to decay:
The day steals on, and showers may come:
This instant haste away.
What now, ye fearful cringing sheep!
Who meets your wondering eyes?
What makes you 'neath the maples creep,
In homaging surprise?
No ladies tread our humble green:
Ah! welcome wonders, hail!
I witness your mistaken queen
Is Patty of the Vale.
Who meets your wondering eyes?
What makes you 'neath the maples creep,
In homaging surprise?
No ladies tread our humble green:
Ah! welcome wonders, hail!
I witness your mistaken queen
Is Patty of the Vale.
| The early poems of John Clare | |