Poems by John ClareH. Frowde, 1908 - 208 páginas |
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Términos y frases comunes
beauty beauty's beneath birds bloom blossom blue bluecap bonny lassie bonny Mary bough bower breath bright bright eyes broken hopes brook bush busy song chaffinch cheer Clare clouds cottage cows cowslip delight dreams e'en fear feel fields flowers grass green grey willow happy hath hear heart hedge Helpston hide insects John Clare lane leaves live lonely look maid MARY BATEMAN meadow mellow moods morning mossy Muse nature's ne'er neath nest never night nought o'er pasture peeping pilewort pleasant pleasure poems poesy praise primrose rain rapture round rude shade shadows sheep shepherd shepherd's purse showers sigh silent sing skies sleep smile song Spring storm summer sung sunny sweet taste thee There's thine things thou thought thrush toil tree Twas tweet violets wake walk warm weed whitethorn wild wind wing woodbine woods yellowhammer
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Página 8 - Poems descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery, by John Clare, a Northamptonshire Peasant ', with an introduction, written by Mr.
Página 204 - I loved the best Are strange - nay, rather stranger than the rest. I long for scenes where man has never trod, A place where woman never smiled or wept; There to abide with my Creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept: Untroubling and untroubled where I lie, The grass below - above the vaulted sky.
Página 204 - I AM ! yet what I am who cares, or knows ? My friends forsake me, like a memory lost. I am the self-consumer of my woes, They rise and vanish, an oblivious host, Shadows of life, whose very soul is lost. And yet I am — I live — though I am toss'd. Into the nothingness of scorn and noise...
Página 174 - O for that sweet, untroubled rest That poets oft have sung!— The babe upon its mother's breast, The bird upon its young, The heart asleep without a pain— When shall I know that sleep again? When shall I be as I have been Upon my mother's breast— Sweet Nature's garb of verdant green To woo to perfect rest— Love in the meadow, field, and glen, And in my native wilds again? The sheep within the fallow field, The herd upon the green, The larks that in the thistle shield, And pipe from morn to...
Página 30 - Toiling in the naked fields, Where no bush a shelter yields, Needy Labour dithering stands, Beats and blows his numbing hands ; And upon the crumping snows Stamps, in vain, to warm his toes'— he utters 'no idly-feign'd poetic pains:' it is a picture of what he has constantly witnessed and felt.
Página 203 - He held his hands for daisies white, And then for violets blue, And took them all to bed at night That in the green fields grew, As childhood's sweet delight. And then he shut his little eyes, And flowers would notice not ; Birds' nests and eggs caused no surprise, He now no blossoms got : They met with plaintive sighs.
Página 38 - ALL how silent and how still ; Nothing heard but yonder mill : While the dazzled eye surveys All around a liquid blaze ; And amid the scorching gleams, If we earnest look, it seems As if crooked bits of glass Seem'd repeatedly to pass.
Página 166 - Is worth the trouble spent. Is pride thy heart's desire? Is power thy climbing aim? Is love thy folly's fire? Is wealth thy restless game? Pride, power, love, wealth and all, Time's touchstone shall destroy, And, like base coin, prove all Vain substitutes for joy. Dost think that pride exalts Thyself in other's eyes, And hides thy folly's faults, Which reason will despise?
Página 48 - Posies from gardens of the sweetest kind, And eager scrambled the dog-rose to get, And woodbine-flowers at every bush she met. The cowslip blossom, with its ruddy streak, Would tempt her furlongs from the path to seek; And gay long purple, with its tufty spike, She'd wade oer shoes to reach it in the dyke...
Página 109 - I love at early morn, from new mown swath, To see the startled frog his route pursue ; To mark while, leaping o'er the dripping path, His bright sides scatter dew, The early lark that, from its bustle flies, To hail his matin new ; And watch him to the skies. To note on hedgerow baulks, in moisture sprent, The jetty snail creep from the mossy thorn, With earnest heed, and tremulous intent, Frail brother of the morn, That from the tiny bent's dew-misted leaves Withdraws his timid horn, And fearful...