Explore Quotes by John Clare

Language has not the power to_x000D_speak what love indites:_x000D_The soul lies buried_x000D_in the ink that writes.

Crowded places, I shunned them as noises too rude / And flew to the silence of sweet solitude.

The snow has left the cottage top;_x000D__x000D_The thatch moss grows in brighter green;_x000D__x000D_And eaves in quick succession drop,_x000D__x000D_Where grinning icicles have been,_x000D__x000D_Pit-patting with a pleasant noise_x000D__x000D_In tubs set by the cottage door;_x000D__x000D_While duck and geese, with happy joys,_x000D__x000D_Plunge in the yard pond brimming over._x000D__x000D_The sun peeps through the window pane:_x000D__x000D_Which children mark with laughing eye,_x000D__x000D_And in the wet street steal again_x000D__x000D_To tell each other spring is night.

How oft a summer shower has started me; to seek the shelter of a hollow tree

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 am gennerally understood tho I do not use that awkward squad of pointings called commas colons semicolons etc.

I never saw so sweet a face. As that I stood before. My heart has left it dwelling place ... and can return no more.

The wild swan hurries hight and noises loud_x000D__x000D_With white neck peering to the evening clowd._x000D__x000D_The weary rooks to distant woods are gone._x000D__x000D_With lengths of tail the magpie winnows on_x000D__x000D_To neighbouring tree, and leaves the distant crow_x000D__x000D_While small birds nestle in the edge below.

The thorn tree just began to bud_x000D__x000D_And greening stained the sheltering hedge,_x000D__x000D_An many a violet beside the wood_x000D__x000D_Peeped blue between the withered sedge;_x000D__x000D_The sun gleamed warm the bank beside,_x000D__x000D_'Twas pleasant wandering out a while_x000D__x000D_Neath nestling bush to lonely hide,_x000D__x000D_Or bend a musings o'er a stile.

Now summer is in flower and natures hum _x000D__x000D_Is never silent round her sultry bloom _x000D__x000D_Insects as small as dust are never done _x000D__x000D_Wi' glittering dance and reeling in the sun _x000D__x000D_And green wood fly and blossom haunting bee _x000D__x000D_Are never weary of their melody _x000D__x000D_Round field hedge now flowers in full glory twine _x000D__x000D_Large bindweed bells wild hop and streakd woodbine _x000D__x000D_That lift athirst their slender throated flowers _x000D__x000D_Agape for dew falls and for honey showers _x000D__x000D_These round each bush in sweet disorder run _x000D__x000D_And spread their wild hues to the sultry sun.

And fairy month of waking mirth _x000D__x000D_From whom our joys ensue _x000D__x000D_Thou early gladder of the earth _x000D__x000D_Thrice welcome here anew _x000D__x000D_With thee the bud unfolds to leaves _x000D__x000D_The grass greens on the lea _x000D__x000D_And flowers their tender boon receives _x000D__x000D_To bloom and smile with thee.

He could not die when the trees were green, For he loved the time too well.

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.