John Clare Weblog

A ramble by the river side No walk so sweet can be To see the creeping waters glide & hear the humble bee Theres nothing else so fine to see As a fast flowing river Hemmd by green banks continually & winding on for ever There nature lives devoid of strife…

Old goody seeks her milking cloak And hastens out to milk the cow And fill the troughs to feed the sow Or seeking old hens laid astray Or from young chickens drives away The circling kite that round them flyes Waiting the chance to seize the prize Hogs tr…

Summers pleasures they are gone like to visions every one & the cloudy days of autumn & of winter cometh on I tried to call them back but unbidden they are gone Far away from heart & eye & forever far away Dear heart & can it be that such raptures meet de…

There is a path a little path Goes winding thru the meadow hay That leadeth on oer many a swath A sweet and pleasant way & heres a stile to rest upon & see the arches all anew That carrys the traveller safely on When wild floods roar below Follow for daily

Clare having fun with language... & the blak sale mathem was fer the reform bill lost in the howse of Lords & if they downt plase to down o there nappers & loke far it agin I wud niver to go to have prares in thet howse agin as Humfrey seys far as thoff it

So dreamy is the light that dwells around 
 & so refreshing is its sombre mood 
 We feel at once shut out from sun & sky 
 All the deliciousness of solitude 
 While sauntering noisless oer the leafy ground The air we breath seems loosing every trace 
 Of…

Clouds rack & drive before the wind In shapes & forms of every kind Like waves that rise without the roar & rocks that guard an untrodden shore Now castles pass majestic by & ships in peaceful havens lie These gone ten thousand shapes ensue For ever beaut…

I love to walk the fields they are to me A legacy no evil can destroy They like a spell set every rapture free That cheered me when a boy Play--pastime--all times blotting pen concealed Comes like a new-born joy To greet me in the field For natures objects

The sallows glisten in their gay palm bloom Studded with golden down where earliest come The solitary wild bees that servive Their trance & ere the tenants of the hive Dare venure out are searching field & wood & from scarce blossoms seeking scanty food H…

& when the summers swarms half namless fled & autumns landscape faded bleak & wild When leaves gun fall & show their berries red Still with the season woud I be beguild Lone spots to seek home leaving far behind Were wildness rears her lings & teazle burs…

The sun he goes down wi a ruby crown To a gold and crimson bed And the falling dew from heaven so blue Hang[s] like pearls on Phoebe's head Love leave the town Come thou with me neath the green leaf tree We'll crop the bonny sweet brere Oh come dear maid…

I never pass a venerable tree Pining away to nothingness & dust Ruins vain shades of power I never see Once dedicated to times cheating trust But warm reflection wakes her saddest thought & views lifes vanity in cheerless light & sees earths bubbles youth…

Blackberrying may appear to be a trivial subject in John Clare's poetry, generally referred to in passing as a characteristic autumnal activity, along with collecting elderberries to make wine, or hazel nuts, or mushrooms, or water-cress, or gathering rot…

The night wind now with sooty wings In the cotters chimney sings Now as stretching oer the bed Soft I raise my drowsy head Listening to the ushering charms That shake the elm tree's mossy arms Till sweet slumbers stronger creep Deeper darkness stealing ro…

One gloomy eve I roamed about Neath Oxeys hazel bowers While timid hares were darting out To crop the dewy flowers & soothing was the scene to me Right pleased was my soul My breast was calm as summers sea When waves forget to roll Follow for daily #JohnC…

The rustling of leaves under the feet in woods & under hedges The crumping of cat-ice & snow down wood rides narrow lanes & every street causeways Rustling through a wood or rather rushing while the wind hallows in the oak tops like thunder The rustles of…

From the hay-cocks moistend heaps Startled frogs take vaunting leaps & along the shaven mead Jumping travellers they proceed Quick the dewy grass divides Moistening sweet their speckled sides From the grass or flowrets cup Quick the dew-drop bounces up Now

And what is Life?

The Moth a coy lover now ventures to creep Out at night to steal kisses from flowers when asleep But the Butterflye bold as the Bee for a plot Kisses the flowers all the day whether willing or not Now no longer able his sports to pursue He lay neath a leaf

To mark what looks like early autumn here in East Devon, a poem from Clare's wonderful collection "Poems descriptive of rural life and scenery" (1820) A REFLECTION IN AUTUMN Now Autumn's come—adieu the pleasing greens The charming Lanscape & the flowrey p…

Now melancholy autumn comes anew With showery clouds and fields of wheat tanned brown Along the meadow banks I peace pursue And see the wild flowers gleaming up and down Like sun and light; the ragwort's golden crown Mirrors like sunshine when sunbeams re…

Humbug is pleased with tinsels shining gauds & what he supports fashion soon applauds One blows the bubbles up with puffing sides & tother looks till stiff necked at the sight Bawling aloud till hoarse ‘look here not there’ While mobs throng round to wond…

& what is Life an hour-glass on the run A mist retreating from the morning sun A busy bustling still repeated dream Its length a minutes pause a moments thought & happiness a bubble on the stream That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought What are vain…

The flatterers meet with smiles The cunning find their friends Without I made my pilgrimage & so met small amends I looked on fame as merits plea Twas spring but winter frowned on me To cringe to menial slaves To worship titled power To bend the knee to k…