Les plus lus ▸
John Clare
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.
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up His bright designs,
And works His sovereign will.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
Yesterday is History,
'Tis so far away --
Yesterday is Poetry --
'Tis Philosophy --
Yesterday is mystery --
Where it is Today
While we shrewdly speculate
Flutter both away
I begin to learn
how a good experiment
is a mystery play,
a game I have my head
free to be troubled by.
And I am one.
On the anniversary
of his death,
she wears
a necklace of
black pearls,
and the police
still have
no idea.
He could not tell the way he came,
Because his chart was lost:
Yet all his way was paved with flame
From the bourne he crossed.
He did not know the way to go,
Because he had no map:
He followed where the winds blow,--
And the April sap.
He never knew upon his brow
The secret that he bore,--
And laughs away the mystery now
The dark's at his door.
No more from out the sunset,
No more across the foam,
No more across the windy hills
Will Sandy Star come home.
He went away to search it
With a curse upon his tongue:
And in his hand the staff of life,
Made music as it swung.
I wonder if he found it,
And knows the mystery now--
Our Sandy Star who went away,
With the secret on his brow.
Your eyes drink of me,
Love makes them shine,
Your eyes that lean
So close to mine.
We have long been lovers,
We know the range
Of each other's moods
And how they change;
But when we look
At each other so
Then we feel
How little we know;
The spirit eludes us,
Timid and free--
Can I ever know you
Or you know me?
Juniper ring on the granite rock,
Deep and green and perfectly planned;
Living with you I understand
Circle-magic of old.
You had a sister in mystery--
Was it only an April ago
That a crocus cup on a bed of snow
Promised eternal things?
It will be longer, Juniper,
Till earth declares you ready to break,
And you fade of the havoc her brown hands make
That are covered with mystic rings.
Violet mystery,
Ringleted gold,
Whiteness of whiteness,
Wherefore so cold?
Silent you sit there--
Spirit and mould--
Darkening the dream
That must never be told!
Not noisily, but solemnly and pale,
In a meditative ecstasy you entered life:
As performing some strange rite, to which you alone held the clue.
Child, life did not give rude strength to you;
from the beginning, you would seem to have thrown away,
As something cold and cumbersome, that armour men use against death.
You would perhaps look on him face to face, and so learn the secret
Whether that face wears oftenest a smile or no?
Strange, old, and silent being, there is something
Infinitely vast in your intense tininess:
I think you could point out, with a smile, some curious star
Far off in the heavens, which no man has seen before.
Faintly lit by a high-barred grating,
The low-hung cellar,
Flattens itself under the house.
In one corner
There is a little door,
So low, it can scarcely be seen.
Beyond,
There is a narrow room,
One must feel for the walls in the dark.
One shrinks to go
To the end of it,
Feeling the smooth cold wall.
Why did the builders who made this house,
Stow one room away like this?