 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
362
GOING TO THE FAIR
A stranger meets a many folks and knowsA fair is somewhere by their Sunday clothes;
The maiden goes with morning in her face,
Healthy and happy at the wind's embrace.
She hastens by the clown, who bids her stay,
And begs to take her basket all the way.
Though she refuses she oft looks behind
As if to token she was half inclined.
She has a look and smile for every one,
And many a heart aches deeply when she's gone.
Her face is beautiful, and every hind
Feels loath to pass her without speaking kind.
Another in such hurry to the fair
Forgets her money till she's half-way there.
| The Poems of John Clare | |