The later poems of John Clare 1837-1864 ... General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
 | I. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 1. |
| II. |
|
'TWAS ON AN APRIL MORNING |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
| 27. |
| 28. |
| 29. |
| 30. |
| 31. |
| 32. |
 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
'TWAS ON AN APRIL MORNING
Twas on an April morning
When the Cowslips were in blooming
And daisies banks adorning
And sunny beams illuming
I down the meadow rambled
And by the river strayed
Among white thorn and bush
Where I met a lovely maid
When the Cowslips were in blooming
And daisies banks adorning
And sunny beams illuming
833
And by the river strayed
Among white thorn and bush
Where I met a lovely maid
Right early i' the morning
Before the break o' day
When the crimson east was dawning
And the morning sky blue grey
I met a lovely Maiden
And singing on her way
With well scoured Milk pails laden
Just by the break o' day
Before the break o' day
When the crimson east was dawning
And the morning sky blue grey
I met a lovely Maiden
And singing on her way
With well scoured Milk pails laden
Just by the break o' day
The dew drops in the cowslips
Shone like some silver pearl
The bullrush like a bow dips
Reeds rustle near the girl
Who fills her pail wi' new milk
By the sandy spotted Cow
While she thinks a gown of blue silk
Would well become her now
Shone like some silver pearl
The bullrush like a bow dips
Reeds rustle near the girl
Who fills her pail wi' new milk
By the sandy spotted Cow
While she thinks a gown of blue silk
Would well become her now
Larks whistle round like lovers
Then drop into the grass
And pairs o' screaming Plovers
Swop round the lovely lass,
Purple dew the eve is bringing
The sun is sinking low
While the Maiden milketh singing
Her sandy spotted Cow
Then drop into the grass
And pairs o' screaming Plovers
Swop round the lovely lass,
Purple dew the eve is bringing
The sun is sinking low
While the Maiden milketh singing
Her sandy spotted Cow
| The later poems of John Clare | |