In crime and enmity they lie Who sin and tell us love can die, Who say to us in slander's breath That love belongs to sin and death.John Clare
I am–yet what I am none cares or knows; My friends forsake me like a memory lost: I am the self-consumer of my woes– They rise and vanish in oblivious host, Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes And yet I am, and live–like vapours tossedJohn Clare
I found the poems in the fields, And only wrote them down.John Clare
O words are poor receipts for what time hath stole awayJohn Clare
I am–yet what I am none cares or knows; My friends forsake me like a memory lost: I am the self-consumer of my woes– They rise and vanish in oblivious host, Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes And yet I am, and live–like vapours tossed Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life or joys, But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems; Even the dearest that I loved the best Are strange–nay, rather, stranger than the rest.John Clare
I sleep with thee, and wake with thee, And yet thou are not there; I fill my arms with thoughts of thee, And press the common air.John Clare
I long for scenes where man hath 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.John Clare
Language has not the power to speak what love indites The soul lies buried in the Ink that writesJohn Clare
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life or joys, But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems; Even the dearest that I loved the best Are strange–nay, rather, stranger than the rest.John Clare
Crowded places, I shunned them as noises too rude And fled to the silence of sweet solitude.John Clare
Hill tops like hot iron glitter bright in the sun, And the rivers we're eying burn to gold as they run; Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air; Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.John Clare
O I never thought that joys would run away from boys, Or that boys would change their minds and forsake such summer joys; But alack I never dreamed that the world had other toysJohn Clare
A maidenhead, the virgin's trouble Is well-compare-d to a bubbleon a navigable river Soon 'tis touched t'is gone foreverJohn Clare
Crowded places, I shunned them as noises too rude And fled to the silence of sweet solitude. Where the flower in green darkness buds, blossoms, and fades, Unseen of all shepherds and flower-loving maids– The hermit bees find them but once and away. There I'll bury alive and in silence decay.John Clare
O lead me onward to the loneliest shade, The darkest place that quiet ever made, Where kingcups grow most beauteous to behold And shut up green and open into gold.John Clare
I wish I was what I have been And what I was could be As when I roved in shadows green And loved my willow tree To gaze upon the starry sky And higher fancies build And make in solitary joy Loves temple in the fieldJohn Clare
Yet simple souls, their faith it knows no stint: Things least to be believed are most preferred. All counterfeits, as from truth's sacred mint, Are readily believed if once put down in printJohn Clare
I hate the very noise of troublous man Who did and does me all the harm he can. Free from the world I would a prisoner be And my own shadow all my company.John Clare
In mid-wood silence, thus, how sweet to be; Where all the noises, that on peace intrude, Come from the chittering cricket, bird, and bee, Whose songs have charms to sweeten solitude.John Clare
O take me from the busy crowd, I cannot bear the noise! For Nature's voice is never loud; I seek for quiet joys. The book I love is everywhere, And not in idle words; The book I love is known to all, And better lore affords.John Clare
There is a charm in Solitude that cheers A feeling that the world knows nothing of A green delight the wounded mind endears After the hustling world is broken offJohn Clare
If life had a second edition, how I would correct the proofs.John Clare
He could not die when trees were green, for he loved the time too well.John Clare