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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BALLAD
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
BALLAD
[Where the dark ivy the thorn tree is mounting]
Where the dark ivy the thorn tree is mounting
Sweet shielding in summer the nest of the dove
There lies the sweet spot by the side of the fountain
Thats dear to all sweetness that dwells upon love
For there setting sunbeams ere evens clouds close 'em
Once stretchd a long shadow of one I adore
& there I did meet the sweet sighs of a bosom
Of one ever dear tho I meet her no more
Sweet shielding in summer the nest of the dove
There lies the sweet spot by the side of the fountain
Thats dear to all sweetness that dwells upon love
96
Once stretchd a long shadow of one I adore
& there I did meet the sweet sighs of a bosom
Of one ever dear tho I meet her no more
& who wi a soul & a share of warm feeling
& who wi a heart that owns love for the fair
Can pass by a spot where his first love was stealing
Or first fondness venturd love tales to declare
Ah who can pass by it & notice it never
Can long days forget on first fondness to call
Sure time kindles love to burn brighter then ever
& natures first choice must be sweetest of all
& who wi a heart that owns love for the fair
Can pass by a spot where his first love was stealing
Or first fondness venturd love tales to declare
Ah who can pass by it & notice it never
Can long days forget on first fondness to call
Sure time kindles love to burn brighter then ever
& natures first choice must be sweetest of all
I prove it sweet mary I prove it too truly
That fountain once sweetnd wi presence of thee
As oft as I pass it at eve & as duly
As may brings the time round I think upon thee
I go & I sit on the soft bed of rushes
As nigh as remembrance the spot can decide
There lonley I wisper in sorrows warm gushes
That bliss when my mary was placd by my side
That fountain once sweetnd wi presence of thee
As oft as I pass it at eve & as duly
As may brings the time round I think upon thee
I go & I sit on the soft bed of rushes
As nigh as remembrance the spot can decide
There lonley I wisper in sorrows warm gushes
That bliss when my mary was placd by my side
It grieves me to see the first open may blossom
Mary if still the hours 'memberd by thee
Twas just then thou wisht one to place in thy bosom
When scarce a peep showd itself open to me
Each may wi a tear is that flower & I parted
As near that lovd spot it first peeps on the bower
Ive no cause to pluck thee I sigh broken hearted
Theres no mary nigh to be pleasd wi the flower
Mary if still the hours 'memberd by thee
Twas just then thou wisht one to place in thy bosom
When scarce a peep showd itself open to me
Each may wi a tear is that flower & I parted
As near that lovd spot it first peeps on the bower
Ive no cause to pluck thee I sigh broken hearted
Theres no mary nigh to be pleasd wi the flower
| The early poems of John Clare | |