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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ADRESS TO A LARK SINGING IN WINTER |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
ADRESS TO A LARK SINGING IN WINTER
Aye—little Larkie whats the reason
Singing thus in winter season
Nothing surely can be pleasing
To make the[e] sing
For I see nought but cold and freezing
And feel it sting
Singing thus in winter season
Nothing surely can be pleasing
To make the[e] sing
For I see nought but cold and freezing
And feel it sting
Perhaps (all done wi' silent mourning)
Thou thinks that summer is returning
And this the last cold frosty morning
To chill thy breast
If so I pity thy discerning
And so I've guest
Thou thinks that summer is returning
And this the last cold frosty morning
To chill thy breast
If so I pity thy discerning
And so I've guest
100
Poor little songster vainly cheated
Stay leave thy singing uncompleated
Drop were thou was beforehand seated
In thy warm nest
Nor let vain wishes be repeated
But sit at rest
Stay leave thy singing uncompleated
Drop were thou was beforehand seated
In thy warm nest
Nor let vain wishes be repeated
But sit at rest
Tis winter let the cold content thee
Wish after nothing till its sent thee
For dissapointments will torment thee
Which will be thine
I know it well for Ive had plenty
Misfortunes mine
Wish after nothing till its sent thee
For dissapointments will torment thee
Which will be thine
I know it well for Ive had plenty
Misfortunes mine
Advice sweet warbler dont despise it
None knows whats what but them that tries it
And then they well know how to prise it
And so do I
Thy case with mine I sympathise it
With many a sigh
None knows whats what but them that tries it
And then they well know how to prise it
And so do I
Thy case with mine I sympathise it
With many a sigh
Weak hope—of thee Ive had my portion
Mere flimsy cobweb—Changing ocean
That flits the scene at every motion
And still egs on
With sweeter view & stronger notion
To dwell upon
Mere flimsy cobweb—Changing ocean
That flits the scene at every motion
And still egs on
With sweeter view & stronger notion
To dwell upon
Yes Ive dwelt long on idle fancies
Strange & uncommon as romances
On future luck my noddle dances
What I should be
But ah when future time advances
Alls Blank to me
Strange & uncommon as romances
101
What I should be
But ah when future time advances
Alls Blank to me
Now twenty years Ive packt behind me
Since hopes deluding tongue inclind me
To fuss myself—But warbler minde me
Its all a sham
& twenty more's as like to find me
Poor as I am
Since hopes deluding tongue inclind me
To fuss myself—But warbler minde me
Its all a sham
& twenty more's as like to find me
Poor as I am
Im poor enough theres plenty knows it
Obscure & dull my scribling shows it
Then sure twas madness to suppose it
What I was at
To gain preferment! There Ill close it
So mum for that
Obscure & dull my scribling shows it
Then sure twas madness to suppose it
What I was at
To gain preferment! There Ill close it
So mum for that
Let mine sweet bird then be a warning
Advice in season do'n't be scorning
But wait till springs first days are dawning
To glad & cheer thee
& then sweet Minstrel of the morning
I'll wish to hear thee
Advice in season do'n't be scorning
But wait till springs first days are dawning
To glad & cheer thee
& then sweet Minstrel of the morning
I'll wish to hear thee
These restless early warning dasies
Whose forward bloom the morning freezes
Last evenings sun (delusion pleases)
Left their despair
When doing well—Content cant please us
What fools we are
Whose forward bloom the morning freezes
Last evenings sun (delusion pleases)
Left their despair
When doing well—Content cant please us
What fools we are
| The early poems of John Clare | |