Section: «Poems»

Verse (ancient Greek ὁ στίχος — row, structure), a term in versification used in several meanings: artistic speech organized by division into rhythmically commensurate segments; poetry in the narrow sense; in particular, it implies the properties of versification of a particular tradition ("antique verse", "Akhmatova's verse", etc.); a line of poetic text organized according to a certain rhythmic pattern ("My uncle of the most honest rules").

The Landrail

How sweet and pleasant grows the wayThrough summer time againWhile Landrails call from day to dayAmid the grass and grainWe hear it in the weeding..

© John Clare

The Instinct Of Hope

Is there another world for this frail dustTo warm with life and be itself again?Something about me daily speaks there must,And why should instinct..

© John Clare

The Gipsy's Camp

How oft on Sundays, when I'd time to tramp,My rambles led me to a gipsy's camp,Where the real effigy of midnight hags,With tawny smoked flesh and..

© John Clare

The Frightened Ploughman

I went in the fields with the leisure I got,The stranger might smile but I heeded him not,The hovel was ready to screen from a shower,And the book in..

© John Clare

The Fox

The shepherd on his journey heard when nighHis dog among the bushes barking high;The ploughman ran and gave a hearty shout,He found a weary fox and..

© John Clare

The Flood

On Lolham Brigs in wild and lonely moodI've seen the winter floods their gambols playThrough each old arch that trembled while I stoodBent o'er its..

© John Clare

The Flitting

I've left my own old home of homes,Green fields and every pleasant place;The summer like a stranger comes,I pause and hardly know her face.I miss the..

© John Clare

The Firetail's Nest

'Tweet' pipes the robin as the cat creeps byHer nestling young that in the elderns lie,And then the bluecap tootles in its glee,Picking the flies..

© John Clare

The Fens

Wandering by the river's edge,I love to rustle through the sedgeAnd through the woods of reed to tearAlmost as high as bushes are.Yet, turning quick..

© John Clare

The Fear Of Flowers

The nodding oxeye bends before the wind,The woodbine quakes lest boys their flowers should find,And prickly dogrose spite of its arrayCan't dare the..

© John Clare

The Fallen Elm

Old elm that murmured in our chimney topThe sweetest anthem autumn ever madeAnd into mellow whispering calms would dropWhen showers fell on thy many..

© John Clare

The Dying Child

He could not die when trees were green,For he loved the time too well.His little hands, when flowers were seen,Were held for the bluebell,As he was..

© John Clare

The Cuckoo

The cuckoo, like a hawk in flight,With narrow pointed wingsWhews o'er our heads - soon out of sightAnd as she flies she sings:And darting down the..

© John Clare

The Crow Sat On The Willow

The crow sat on the willow treeA-lifting up his wings,And glossy was his coat to see,And loud the ploughman sings,'I love my love because I knowThe..

© John Clare

Christmass

Christmass is come and every hearthMakes room to give him welcome nowEen want will dry its tears in mirthAnd crown him wi a holly boughTho tramping..

© John Clare

The Cross Roads; Or, The Haymaker's Story

Stopt by the storm, that long in sullen black From the south-west stain'd its encroaching track, Haymakers, hustling from the rain to..

© John Clare

The Cottager

True as the church clock hand the hour pursuesHe plods about his toils and reads the news,And at the blacksmith's shop his hour will standTo talk of..

© John Clare

The Cellar Door

By the old tavern door on the causey there layA hogshead of stingo just rolled from a dray,And there stood the blacksmith awaiting a dropAs dry as..

© John Clare

The Beautiful Stranger

I cannot know what country owns thee now,With France's forest lilies on thy brow.When England knew thee thou wert passing fair;I never knew a foreign..

© John Clare

The Badger

WHEN midnight comes a host of dogs and menGo out and track the badger to his den,And put a sack within the hole and lieTill the old grunting badger..

© John Clare

The Ants

What wonder strikes the curious, while he viewsThe black ant's city, by a rotten tree,Or woodland bank! In ignorance we muse:Pausing, annoyed,--we..

© John Clare

Sunday Dip

The morning road is thronged with merry boysWho seek the water for their Sunday joys;They run to seek the shallow pit, and wadeAnd dance about the..

© John Clare

Summer Images

Now swarthy Summer, by rude health embrowned,Precedence takes of rosy fingered Spring;And laughing Joy, with wild flowers prank'd, and crown'd,A wild..

© John Clare

Summer Evening

The frog half fearful jumps across the path,And little mouse that leaves its hole at eveNimbles with timid dread beneath the swath;My rustling steps..

© John Clare

Summer

Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come,For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom,And the crow is on the oak..

© John Clare