 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
STANZAS
[Oh, the world keeps running round]
Oh, the world keeps running round
With contrariness to me;
There's falsehood in the sound
Of all I hear and see.
My love, she's not so pretty
As many others be,
Nor talkative nor witty,
Yet very dear to me.
With contrariness to me;
There's falsehood in the sound
Of all I hear and see.
My love, she's not so pretty
As many others be,
Nor talkative nor witty,
Yet very dear to me.
In the yellow gorse I see her,
But that's wi' fancy's eye,
For I'm longing to be wi' her
While in prison bonds I lie.
Furze-bushes like to gillyflowers
More yellow are than gold;
I've loved her there in summer hours
With joyfulness untold.
But that's wi' fancy's eye,
For I'm longing to be wi' her
While in prison bonds I lie.
499
More yellow are than gold;
I've loved her there in summer hours
With joyfulness untold.
The furze-bush is a prickly tree
Whose flowers attract the bees,
But false love's often wounded me
With sharper thorns than these.
I met my love upon the heath
In summer's pleasant hours,
She wore no thorns to be my death,
She brought me naught but flowers.
Whose flowers attract the bees,
But false love's often wounded me
With sharper thorns than these.
I met my love upon the heath
In summer's pleasant hours,
She wore no thorns to be my death,
She brought me naught but flowers.
And she shall be my only love,
No other I'll prefer;
For by that sun that shines above
I'll love but only her.
We'll walk the mole-hill banks between,
Where wild thyme smells so sweet,
And at the dewy close of e'en
I there my love shall meet.
No other I'll prefer;
For by that sun that shines above
I'll love but only her.
We'll walk the mole-hill banks between,
Where wild thyme smells so sweet,
And at the dewy close of e'en
I there my love shall meet.
| The Poems of John Clare | |