The later poems of John Clare 1837-1864 ... General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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‘A WIMPERING BROOK’ |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
‘A WIMPERING BROOK’
A whimpering brook beside the path
A shady stile to cross the way
And many a hay and clover swarth
Scenting sweet the summers day
There Lucy at the shut of e've
Will wander oer the grassy way
The Village cares and labour leave
Where rows of Willows waver grey
A shady stile to cross the way
And many a hay and clover swarth
Scenting sweet the summers day
There Lucy at the shut of e've
Will wander oer the grassy way
The Village cares and labour leave
Where rows of Willows waver grey
857
The white moth flits upon the wing
The bat has left the willow tree
In brook banks chittering crickets sing
Come Lucy dear and walk with me
We'll meet where cooling gales soft night
That flutters round the bladed wheat
As if a bird had taken flight
Or timid Leveret left his seat
The bat has left the willow tree
In brook banks chittering crickets sing
Come Lucy dear and walk with me
We'll meet where cooling gales soft night
That flutters round the bladed wheat
As if a bird had taken flight
Or timid Leveret left his seat
The unseen shower of falling dew
Shall sprint the roses on thy face
While distant we the old oak view
Still standing in its ancient place
Come Lucy meet the evening hour
Across cornfield and grassy path
The scented bean fields are in flower
And sweetly smells the new mown swath
Shall sprint the roses on thy face
While distant we the old oak view
Still standing in its ancient place
Come Lucy meet the evening hour
Across cornfield and grassy path
The scented bean fields are in flower
And sweetly smells the new mown swath
The unseen shower of falling dew
How sweet we meet its fall at eve
When every thing perks up anew
And fancy pleasing visions w[e] ave
Its eve song us the cricket sung
Snug in its moss nest sleeps the bee
The ground lark broods on eggs and young
Come Lucy wander out with me
How sweet we meet its fall at eve
When every thing perks up anew
And fancy pleasing visions w[e] ave
Its eve song us the cricket sung
Snug in its moss nest sleeps the bee
The ground lark broods on eggs and young
Come Lucy wander out with me
| The later poems of John Clare | |