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John Clare, nature, in English Clear filters

CheerfulJohn Clare

Insects

These tiny loiterers on the barley's beard, And happy units of a numerous herd Of playfellows, the laughing Summer brings, Mocking the sunshine in their glittering wings, How merrily they creep, and run, and fly! No kin they bear to labour's drudgery, Smoothing the velvet of the pale hedge-rose; And where they fly for dinner no one knows-- The dew-drops feed them not--they love the shine Of noon, whose sun may bring them golden wine. All day they're playing in their Sunday dress-- Till night goes sleep, and they can do no less; Then, to the heath bell's silken hood they fly, And like to princes in their slumbers lie, Secure from night, and dropping dews, and all, In silken beds and roomy painted hall.
ContemplativeJohn Clare

Summer Evening

The frog half fearful jumps across the path, And little mouse that leaves its hole at eve Nimbles with timid dread beneath the swath; My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive, Till past,--and then the cricket sings more strong, And grasshoppers in merry moods still wear The short night weary with their fretting song. Up from behind the molehill jumps the hare, Cheat of his chosen bed, and from the bank The yellowhammer flutters in short fears From off its nest hid in the grasses rank, And drops again when no more noise it hears. Thus nature's human link and endless thrall, Proud man, still seems the enemy of all.
ContemplativeJohn 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 my pocket was read in an hour. The bird came for shelter, but soon flew away; The horse came to look, and seemed happy to stay; He stood up in quiet, and hung down his head, And seemed to be hearing the poem I read. The ploughman would turn from his plough in the day And wonder what being had come in his way, To lie on a molehill and read the day long And laugh out aloud when he'd finished his song. The pewit turned over and stooped oer my head Where the raven croaked loud like the ploughman ill-bred, But the lark high above charmed me all the day long,
ContemplativeJohn Clare

Quail's Nest

I wandered out one rainy day And heard a bird with merry joys Cry "wet my foot" for half the way; I stood and wondered at the noise, When from my foot a bird did flee-- The rain flew bouncing from her breast I wondered what the bird could be, And almost trampled on her nest. The nest was full of eggs and round-- I met a shepherd in the vales, And stood to tell him what I found. He knew and said it was a quail's, For he himself the nest had found, Among the wheat and on the green, When going on his daily round, With eggs as many as fifteen.
ContemplativeJohn Clare

Dewdrops

The dewdrops on every blade of grass are so much like silver drops that I am obliged to stoop down as I walk to see if they are pearls, and those sprinkled on the ivy-woven beds of primroses underneath the hazels, whitethorns and maples are so like gold beads that I stooped down to feel if they were hard, but they melted from my finger. And where the dew lies on the primrose, the violet and whitethorn leaves they are emerald and beryl, yet nothing more than the dews of the morning on the budding leaves; nay, the road grasses are covered with gold and silver beads, and the further we go the brighter they seem to shine, like solid gold and silver. It is nothing more than the sun's
SadJohn Clare

The Sleep of Spring

O for that sweet, untroubled rest That poets oft have sung!-- The babe upon its mother's breast, The bird upon its young, The heart asleep without a pain-- When shall I know that sleep again? When shall I be as I have been Upon my mother's breast Sweet Nature's garb of verdant green To woo to perfect rest-- Love in the meadow, field, and glen, And in my native wilds again? The sheep within the fallow field, The herd upon the green, The larks that in the thistle shield, And pipe from morn to e'en--
RomanticJohn Clare

Thou Flower of Summer

When in summer thou walkest In the meads by the river, And to thyself talkest, Dost thou think of one ever-- A lost and a lorn one That adores thee and loves thee? And when happy morn's gone, And nature's calm moves thee, Leaving thee to thy sleep like an angel at rest, Does the one who adores thee still live in thy breast? Does nature eer give thee Love's past happy vision, And wrap thee and leave thee In fancies elysian? Thy beauty I clung to, As leaves to the tree;
SadJohn Clare

Now is Past

Now_ is past--the happynow When we together roved Beneath the wildwood's oak-tree bough And Nature said we loved. Winter's blast Thenow_ since then has crept between, And left us both apart. Winters that withered all the green Have froze the beating heart. Now is past. Now_ is past since last we met Beneath the hazel bough; Before the evening sun was set Her shadow stretched below. Autumn's blast Has stained and blighted every bough;
RomanticJohn Clare

Bonny Lassie O!

O the evening's for the fair, bonny lassie O! To meet the cooler air and walk an angel there, With the dark dishevelled hair, Bonny lassie O! The bloom's on the brere, bonny lassie O! Oak apples on the tree; and wilt thou gang to see The shed I've made for thee, Bonny lassie O! Tis agen the running brook, bonny lassie O! In a grassy nook hard by, with a little patch of sky, And a bush to keep us dry, Bonny lassie O! There's the daisy all the year, bonny lassie O! There's the king-cup bright as gold, and the speedwell never cold, And the arum leaves unrolled, Bonny lassie O!
CheerfulJohn Clare

The Vixen

Among the taller wood with ivy hung, The old fox plays and dances round her young. She snuffs and barks if any passes bye And swings her tail and turns prepared to fly. The horseman hurries bye, she bolts to see, And turns agen, from danger never free. If any stands she runs among the poles And barks and snaps and drives them in the holes. The shepherd sees them and the boy goes bye And gets a stick and progs the hole to try. They get all still and lie in safety sure And out again when every thing's secure And start and snap at blackbirds bouncing bye To fight and catch the great white butterfly.

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