John Clare

I hid my love when young till I_x000D_ Couldn't bear the buzzing of a fly;_x000D_ I hid my life to my despite_x000D_ Till I could not bear to look at light:_x000D_ I dare not gaze upon her face_x000D_ But left her memory in each place;_x000D_ Where'er I saw a wild flower lie_x000D_ I kissed and bade my love good-bye.

Old April wanes, and her last dewy morn Her death-bed steeps in tears; to hail the May New blooming blossoms neath the sun are born, And all poor April's charms are swept away.

Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air; Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.

Loud is the summer's busy song_x000D_ _x000D_ The smallest breeze can find a tongue,_x000D_ _x000D_ While insects of each tiny size_x000D_ _x000D_ Grow teasing with their melodies,_x000D_ _x000D_ Till noon burns with its blistering breath_x000D_ _x000D_ Around, and day lies still as death.

I long for scenes where man has never trod; A place where woman never smil'd 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.

I found the poems in the fields And only wrote them down

Ah, words are poor receipts for what time hath stole away.

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; And e'en the dearest--that I love the best-- Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.