 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
296
THE GREENWOOD SIDE
The stray path rambles through the furze
That gives the balmy smells of June,
The glad wind all the bushes stirs,
Brown linnet chitters o'er a tune:
Then, maiden, walk and hear the lay,
And be a friend with joy to-day.
That gives the balmy smells of June,
The glad wind all the bushes stirs,
Brown linnet chitters o'er a tune:
Then, maiden, walk and hear the lay,
And be a friend with joy to-day.
The wild heath spreads a table green,
Health, hope, and joy are at the feast,
Then on my arm in pleasure lean
And journey here a welcome guest:
Then come away and let us find
Joys that for years will please the mind.
Health, hope, and joy are at the feast,
Then on my arm in pleasure lean
And journey here a welcome guest:
Then come away and let us find
Joys that for years will please the mind.
What is there half so sweet and dear
As sweet discourse from lips we love
In earth's green spots and places where
Joys breathe a blessing from above,
And, free from care's disquiet ways,
Find things to profit and to praise?
As sweet discourse from lips we love
In earth's green spots and places where
Joys breathe a blessing from above,
And, free from care's disquiet ways,
Find things to profit and to praise?
Come, throw domestic cares aside,
Home toils may wait another day;
Delay waits by the greenwood side
And stoops for blossoms by the way,
Where arm in arm and side by side
We'll dally o'er the heath so wide.
Home toils may wait another day;
Delay waits by the greenwood side
And stoops for blossoms by the way,
Where arm in arm and side by side
We'll dally o'er the heath so wide.
Here's flowers of almost every kind,
Blue little bells scarce reach your foot,
Shake so enticing to the wind
They'll make ye stoop to get the root;
And there's the ling to tempt your stay,
To get a load and take away.
Blue little bells scarce reach your foot,
Shake so enticing to the wind
They'll make ye stoop to get the root;
And there's the ling to tempt your stay,
To get a load and take away.
297
Briers crossing paths I'll trample down,
And bur-balls which we wander through,
I'll stoop to pluck them from thy gown
And feel it honour so to do;
Love has so many things to say,
Come with the instant nor delay.
And bur-balls which we wander through,
I'll stoop to pluck them from thy gown
And feel it honour so to do;
Love has so many things to say,
Come with the instant nor delay.
Hasten and leave delay behind,
The sun has half his journey gone;
Haste bending to the summer wind
While one hand holds thy bonnet on.
E'en now thy vision fills my eye
And beauty's garment flutters by.
The sun has half his journey gone;
Haste bending to the summer wind
While one hand holds thy bonnet on.
E'en now thy vision fills my eye
And beauty's garment flutters by.
| The Poems of John Clare | |