The dewdrop lives for half a day


Green fields no more the summer views

All sickened into ripened hues
Of brown & grey & darksome glooms
That mark the path where autumn comes
& in each woodlands buried way
The dewdrop lives for half the day
Dank mists oft creep 'twixt earth and sky
& dreaming dim the mornings eye

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The Workhouse Orphan


With Mary Lee the parish was my lot
& its cold bounty all the friends I got
Dragd from our childhoods pleasures & its plays
We pined in workhouse sorrows many days
Were many wants recievd their scan supply
Were pity never came to check the sigh
Save what laws force from tyrant overseers
Whose bitter gifts was purchased with our tears

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Our land


 Ive loved thy being from a boy

The highland hills was once my joy
Then morning mists did round them lie
Like sunshine in the happiest sky
Her hills & valleys seemed my own
When our land was freedoms throne
Her fruitful vales her mountain thrones
Are ruled by natures laws alone

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A quiet comes across the mind


 A quiet comes across the mind 

With every ruffled thought subdued 
When fields & light are left behind 
& twilight leadeth through the wood
Parting the branches as we go 
We sometimes meet a path below

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Swifter than thought

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Where the deer with their shadows passed swifter than thought,
And the hare from the braken went limping along,
Where the pheasant's red eye for a moment was caught,
Then vanished away like a spinning bee's song.

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The deliciousness of solitude



Now almost hid in trees a little gate 

Cheats us into the darkness of the wood 
We almost think the day is wearing late 
So dreamy is the light that dwells around 
& so refreshing is its sombre mood 
We feel at once shut out from sun & sky 
All the deliciousness of solitude 

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Clare’s first meeting with Patty


Ye Swampy Falls of pasture ground

With rushy moors bestrewed
Ye moory swells with brambles crownd
Ye prospects wild & rude
Ive tracd ye oft & love ye dear
& kind was fate to let me
Tis you I found my all for here
Twas first my Patty met me

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Like serpents gliding by


 This twilight seems a veil of gauze and mist

Trees seem dark hills between the earth & sky
Winds sob awake & then a gusty hist
Fans through the wheat like serpents gliding by
I love to stretch my length 'tween earth and sky

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The sun hung on nothing

Just as the even bell rung we set out

To wander the fields & the meadows about

& the first thing we markt that was lovly to view

Was the sun hung on nothing & bidding adieu

He seemd like a ball of pure gold in the west

In a cloud like a mountain blue dropping to rest


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Clare and quiet kine

Ive often gazed with pleasure by the edge

Of the old meadow lake floodwashed and crookd 

The water-rat slow rustling in the sedge

The fish-ring wavering in the clear Ive looked

In rapture on the mellow summer shine

Of the still water gleaming in the sun

Just wrinkled by the plash of quiet kine

Who knee-deep in the flags would drink—and done


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Photo by my friend #JohnAbbott

Clare and the poisonous ragwort, home to the cinnabar moth caterpillar.


Brown butterflyes in happy quiet rest

Upon the blooming ragworts golden breast

Giving unto the mind a sweet employ

That everything in nature meets with joy

Ah sweet indeed for trifles such as these

Full often give my aching bosom ease


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Photos by my friend #JohnAbbott 


Morning…

Hedge-sparrows in the bush cry ‘tweet’

O'er nests larks winnow in the wheat

Till the sun turns gold and gets more high

& paths are clean & grass gets dry

& longest shadows pass away

& brightness is the blaze of day


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A political comment from #JohnClare. Prescient!

Here shines our orator in all his plumes 

Nor prouder bantam to a dung hill comes

Then he to crow & peck & peck & crow 

& hurl bad english at retorting foe 

No hungry magpie round a rotten sheep 

A longer song of nonsense up can keep


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Whistle & Winnow

 


There is music without ere a bird

There is bloom without ere a flower
For eolean winds we oft' have heard
& the grass blooms fresher every hour
The very rushes seem as flowers
That nod above the marshy grass
Through which the winds in summer hours
Whistle & winnow as they pass

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A photo from my friend #RebeccaHawley

Do wild flowers love?

 


Do wild flowers love I think they do
& often stooping down
I hear them talk to shower and dew
On many a lovely mound
I often see thy fairy form
In springs bee singing hours
Light stepping on in fancy warm
As love among the flowers

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A photo from my #wildflowermeadow

Of gipsey liberty

 


The hare that haunts the fallow grounds
& round the common feeds
The fox that tracks the woodland bounds
& in the thicket breeds
These are the neighbours were we dwell
& all the guests we see
That share & love the quiet well
Of gipsey liberty

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Another photo from my friend #RebeccaHawley 

A hazy misty day


How Slow the hazy mist retires

     A Wider Circles seen
Thin Scatterd Huts & Neighbouring Spires
     Augment the Bounded Scene
Brisk Winds the Lightnd Branches shake
     By pattering Drops confest
& where Oaks Dripping shade the Lake
     Prints Dimples on its Breast

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The corncraik


The corncraik rispt her summer call

Just as the sun went down

Copper red a burning ball 

In woods behind the town

I wandered forth a maid to meet 

So bonny and so fair

No other flower was half so sweet

& cole black was her hair

 

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Photo from my friend #RebeccaHawley

The spring has brought its blessing love

 


The spring has brought its blessing love
& daiseys deck the lea
Both green & grove is dressing love
In sweetest smiles for thee
I view your beauty sleeping love
So sweet & innoscent
& if your sleep Im breaking love
Wi but a harmless kiss
Lets hope ye wornt at waking love
(Just a fragment)

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The Morning Wind


Clare built his Paradise, his Eden, with materials personal to 

him. His Paradise consists of the few square miles around 

Helpston, and he maintained a map of this Paradise in his head. 

He knew every tree, every bush, every field in Eden, and every 

living thing in it.  In my opinion, a very important poem straight 

from the heart of the poet.


He writes in his sonnet ‘The Morning Wind’:

 

Theres more then music in this early wind
Awaking like a bird refreshed from sleep
& joy what Adam might in Eden find
When he with angels did communion keep

It breaths all balm & insence from the sky
Blessing the husbandman with freshening powers
Joys manna from its wings doth fall & lie
Harvests for early wakers with the 

The very grass with joys devotion moves

Cowslaps in adoration & delight
This way & that bow to the breath they love
Of the young winds that with their dew pearls play
Till smoaking chimneys sicken the young light
& feelings fairey visions fade away

 

From my Chapbook ‘Eden Defiled’.


Walks in the Woods (part)


Oh I do love to force a way
Through woods where lone the woodman goes
Through all the matted shades to stray
The brambles tearing at my clothes
& it may tear I love the noise
& hug the solitary joys

The woodman he from top to toe
In leathern doublet brushes on
He cares not where his rambles go
Thorns briers he beats them every one
Their utmost spite his armour foils
Unhurt he dares his daily toils

Knee deep in fern he daily stoops
& loud his bill or hatchet chops
As snug he trims the faggot up
Or gaps in mossy hedges stops
While echo chops as he hath done
As if she counted every one

Through thickest shades I love to go
Where stovens foiled to get above
Cramp crook and form so thick below
Fantastic arbours — Oh, I love
To sit me there till fancy weaves
Rich joys beneath a world of leaves

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I feel that rapture which the world hath not



The birds unbid come round about to give
Their music to my pleasures—wild flowers live
About as if for me—they smile & bloom
Like uninvited guests that love to come
Their wild fragrant offerings all to bring
Paying me kindness like a throned king
Lost in such extacys in this old spot
I feel that rapture which the world hath not

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The gabble of geese & the bawling of boys


 (A fragment)

How lovely afresh are we breathing again
The quiet delights of the field & the plain
Free & far from the strife that the village anoys
The gabble of geese & the bawling of boys
& the dust floating up as the waggon jars bye
The wishfull wreaths shuttling [across] the blue sky

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Building castles in the air.


 #JohnClare building castles in the air.

Clouds rack & drive before the wind 
In shapes & forms of every kind
Like waves that rise without the roar 
& rocks that guard an untrodden shore 
Now castles pass majestic by 
& ships in peaceful havens lie 
These gone ten thousand shapes ensue
For ever beautiful & new

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A free offer…

 


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Sure tis a pleasure in such secret nooks
To muse on distant friends in memorys eye
Or glance on passages in favourite books

A #JohnClare book offer for all Mastodon followers.

If you’d like a PDF of one of my #JohnClare books, just let me know on arborfield (at) pm (dot) me (Perfect for any Book Reader).  I have now published over 30 books and pamphlets, so I’ll choose one at random. 

Wild flower & insect tribes


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#JohnClare on a summer stroll.

Then crooked stile with little steps that aid
The climbing meets us & the pleasant grass
& hedgerows old with arbours ready made
For weariness to rest in pleasant shade
Surround us & with ecstasy we pass
Wild flower & insect tribes that ever mate
With joy & dance from every step we take

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Where to cross?

 


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#JohnClare wondering where to cross.

Well now if your rested we'll wander again
Here the path strides the brook over closes of grain
So who's first to venture—come never see fear
Though the plank bends beneath us [no] danger is near
Well if you are fearful we'll turn back & go
Where stepping stones ford oer a shallow below

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What is life?

 


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#JohnClare asking 'What is Life?'

What is Life?—an hour glass on the run
A mist retreating from the morning sun
A busy bustling still repeated dream
— Its Length? — A minutes pause — a moments thought
& happiness? — A Bubble on the stream
That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought


Dragonfly


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#JohnClare spots a dragonfly.

Just above the surface of the floods
Where water lileys mount their snowy buds
On whose broad swimming leaves of glossy green
The shining dragon flye is often seen
& hanging thorns whose roots washd bare appear
That shields the morehens nest from year to year

Photo: #KathrynParsons