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").

In Hilly-Wood

How sweet to be thus nestling deep in boughs,Upon an ashen stoven pillowing me;Faintly are heard the ploughmen at their ploughs,But not an eye can..

© John Clare

Impromptu

'Where art thou wandering, little child?'I said to one I met to-day.--She pushed her bonnet up and smiled,'I'm going upon the green to play:Folks..

© John Clare

Idle Fame

I would not wish the burning blazeOf fame around a restless world,The thunder and the storm of praiseIn crowded tumults heard and hurled.I would not..

© John Clare

I Hid My Love

I hid my love when young till ICouldn't bear the buzzing of a fly;I hid my love to my despiteTill I could not bear to look at light;I dare not gaze..

© John Clare

I Dreamt Of Robin

I opened the casement this morn at starlight,And, the moment I got out of bed,The daisies were quaking about in their whiteAnd the cowslip was..

© John Clare

I Am

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..

© John Clare

House Or Window Flies

These little window dwellers, in cottages and halls, were alwaysentertaining to me; after dancing in the window all day from sunriseto sunset they..

© John Clare

Hodge

He plays with other boys when work is done,But feels too clumsy and too stiff to run,Yet where there's mischief he can find a wayThe first to join..

© John Clare

Hen's Nest

Among the orchard weeds, from every search,Snugly and sure, the old hen’s nest is made,Who cackles every morning from her perchTo tell the servant..

© John Clare

Graves Of Infants

Infant' graves are steps of angels, whereEarth's brightest gems of innocence repose.God is their parent, and they need no tear;He takes them to His..

© John Clare

Grasshoppers

Grasshoppers go in many a thumming springAnd now to stalks of tasseled sow-grass cling,That shakes and swees awhile, but still keeps straight;While..

© John Clare

Gipsies

The snow falls deep; the forest lies alone;The boy goes hasty for his load of brakes,Then thinks upon the fire and hurries back;The gipsy knocks his..

© John Clare

From The Parish: A Satire

IIn politics and politicians' liesThe modern farmer waxes wondrous wise;Opinionates with wisdom all compact,And een could tell a nation how to..

© John Clare

From

Sweet solitude, what joy to be alone--In wild, wood-shady dell to stay for hours.Twould soften hearts if they were hard as stoneTo see glad..

© John Clare

Fragment

The cataract, whirling down the precipice,Elbows down rocks and, shouldering, thunders through.Roars, howls, and stifled murmurs never cease;Hell and..

© John Clare

Firwood

The fir trees taper into twigs and wearThe rich blue green of summer all the year,Softening the roughest tempest almost calmAnd offering shelter ever..

© John Clare

First Love

I ne'er was struck before that hourWith love so sudden and so sweet,Her face it bloomed like a sweet flowerAnd stole my heart away complete.My face..

© John Clare

Field Path

The beams in blossom with their spots of jetSmelt sweet as gardens wheresoever met;The level meadow grass was in the swath;The hedge briar rose hung..

© John Clare

Farmer's Boy

He waits all day beside his little flockAnd asks the passing stranger what's o'clock,But those who often pass his daily tasksLook at their watch and..

© John Clare

Farm Breakfast

Maids shout to breakfast in a merry strife,And the cat runs to hear the whetted knife,And dogs are ever in the way to watchThe mouldy crust and..

© John Clare

Farewell And Defiance To Love

Love and thy vain employs, awayFrom this too oft deluded breast!No longer will I court thy stay,To be my bosom's teazing guest.Thou treacherous..

© John Clare

Farewell

Farewell to the bushy clump close to the riverAnd the flags where the butter-bump hides in forever;Farewell to the weedy nook, hemmed in by..

© John Clare

Evening Primrose

When once the sun sinks in the west,And dewdrops pearl the evening's breast;Almost as pale as moonbeams are,Or its companionable star,The evening..

© John Clare

Evening

'Tis evening; the black snail has got on his track,And gone to its nest is the wren,And the packman snail, too, with his home on his back,Clings to..

© John Clare

Emmonsail's Heath In Winter

I love to see the old heath's withered brakeMingle its crimpled leaves with furze and ling,While the old heron from the lonely lakeStarts slow and..

© John Clare