Green sunny green

I lean upon the window-sill
The trees & summer happy seem
Green sunny green they shine but still
My heart goes far away to dream
Of happiness & thoughts arise
With home-bred pictures many a one,
Green lanes that shut out burning skies
& old crook'd stiles to rest upon

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Mortal decay

On a fine Sunday morning the house swep so clean
And a flower pot for ornament plac'd
Compos'd of oak branches so spreading and green
Intermingled with blue-bells the window-board grac'd.
To view their gay colors I rather inclin'd
While resting myself near the wall
Which soon brought morality into my mind
And thus I had model'd their fall.

‘Tho your charms seem so tempting ye gay blooming flowers
‘As to make every stranger look on
‘Yet if I stay here three or four passing hours
‘I shall see you all whither'd and gone!’
But afterwards thinking on what I had said
Reflection soon made me to sigh
And once more reviewing their sweet smelling shade
I suppos'd from the flowers this reply.

‘Vain unthinking mortal how ready thou'rt prone
‘To condemn the short date of our flowers
‘But stop with thy morals—turn the case to thine own!
‘And thou'l find it a deal worse than our's.’
‘For go where thou pluck't us next year o'er the ground
‘There thou'lt find us as gay as before!
‘But when once moralizer thy spring's gone its round
‘It never will blossom no more!’

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A fragment

A few years ago I was flying out to Tunis visiting family, I sat next to a lady who was very interested in what I was reading... John Clare.  I showed her these small fragments on my iPad, and she promptly photographed the screen.  The power of even Clare's shortest fragmentary poems!

Natures sweet bard of spring the sable bee
Hums round each cottage wall its minstrelsy

& the gay wasp in its stript jacket comes

To sunny banks in terryfying hums

Waking the herd boys fears that ramble nigh

& threatning vengance to each passer bye

Swarthy yet lovly by each zepher fan'd
As the soft cheek of milkmaids summer tan'd

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Down the lane

Now rising ground permits the plain 
To change the restless view
The pathways leading down the lane 
My pleasures still renew
The osiers slender shade is by
& bushes thickly spread
Again the ground is firm & dry
Nor trembles neath the tread

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The ant

What wonder strikes the curious while he views

The black ants city by a rotten tree

Or woodland bank! In ignorance we muse

Pausing annoyed -- we know not what we see
Such government & thought there seem to be
Some looking on & urging some to toil
Dragging their loads of bent-stalks slavishly
& whats more wonderful when big loads foil
One ant or two to carry quickly then
A swarm flock round to help their fellow-men
Surely they speak a language whisperingly
Too fine for us to hear & sure their ways
Prove they have kings and laws & that they be
Deformed remnants of the Fairy-days

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Crossing a brook

Wereover many a stile neeth willows grey 

The winding footpath leaves the public way
Free from the dusty din & ceasless chime
Of bustling waggons in the summer time
Crossing a brook—were braving storms in vain
Two willows fell & still for brigs remain
Corn field & clover closes leading down
In peacful windings to the neighbouring town

Were on bridge wall or rail or trees smooth bark
The passing eye is often stopt to mark
The artless vanity of village swains
Who spend a leisure hour with patient pains
& put to sculptors purposes the knife
To spin a cobweb for an after life
Nicking the letters of their little names
In rudest forms that untaught science frames

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Sweet solitude

Sweet solitude what joy to be alone

In wild wood shady dell to stay for hours
Twould soften hearts if they were hard as stone
To see glad Butterflies & smiling flowers
Tis pleasant in these quiet lonely places
Where not the voice of Man our pleasure mars
To see the little bees with coal black faces
Gath'ring sweets from little flowers like stars

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Oak trees dancing

Oak trees dancing round & round 
Green was the shade—I love the woods 
When autumns wind is mourning loud 
To see the leaves float on the floods 
Dead within their yellow shroud 
The wood was then in glory spread 
I love the browning bough to see 
That litters autumns dying bed 
Her latest sigh is dear to me 
Neath a spreading shady oak 
For awhile to muse I lay 
From its grains a bough I broke 
To fan the teasing flies away

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The Orchis

I saw it in the evening sun & in the morning dew 
I saw't o evenings i' the week Each sunday i' the year 
& purposed journeys came to seek When orchis flowers appear 
O they are clods that never seek For true loves living powers 
When beans grow up as green as leeks I hunt the Orchis flower

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Sunset so golden

The scene it was cheery when I met my deary

In even’s cool mantle of dew
T’was heaven unfolding in sunset so golden
But ah it was sweeter far sweeter beholding
Fond love at its first interview

O fond loves excesses the heart how it blesses
Wi the jem of our raptures in view
We fancy none fairer we fancy none dearer
There may be as true but we think none sincerer
Loves sketches are perfectly drew

But fancy is waining & love is complaining
Of beautys that time weareth thro
Summers day may be golden ripe flowers sweet beholding
But the honey of sweetness is springs bliss unfolding
Wi tender loves first interview

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The tempting season

May’s mildness mocks the gladdend sky

& clouds as swiftly clouds pursue

Save that no swallow cares to flye

Nor cuckoo sings the story true

Thus some few days may idly dwell

& hold the tempting season still

& tempt the early buds to swell

For lurking winters blast to kill

& many a flower on sunny slopes

That startles up the spring to see

Is doomd to loose their early hopes

& perish in their infancy

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Shining like guineas

Tis May and yet the March flower Dandelion 

Is still in bloom among the Emerald grass 

Shining like guineas with the suns warm eye on 

We almost think they are gold as we pass 

Or fallen stars on a green sea of grass 

The[y] shine in fields on waste grounds near the town 

They closed like painters brush when even was 

At length they turn to nothing else but down 

While the rude winds blow of[f] each shadowy crown 

.

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Dobbin

With arms and legs at work and gentle stroke
That urges switching tail nor mends his pace,
On an old ribbed and weather beaten horse,
The farmer goes jogtrotting to the fair.
Both keep their pace that nothing can provoke
Followed by brindled dog that snuffs the ground
With urging bark and hurries at his heels.
His hat slouched down, and great coat buttoned close
Bellied like hooped keg, and chuffy face
Red as the morning sun, he takes his round
And talks of stock: and when his jobs are done
And Dobbin's hay is eaten from the rack,
He drinks success to corn in language hoarse,
And claps old Dobbin's hide, and potters back.

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The sun unveils his smiles

Soon as the twilight through the distant mist
In silver hemmings skirts the purple east
Ere yet the sun unveils his smiles to view
& dries the mornings chilly robes of dew
Young Hodge the horse-boy with a soodly gait
Slow climbs the stile or opes the creaky gate
With willow switch & halter by his side
Prepared for Dobbin whom he means to ride
The only tune he knows still whistling oer
& humming scraps his father sung before
As "Wantley Dragon” & the "Magic Rose”
The whole of music that his village knows
Which wild remembrance in each little town
From mouth to mouth through ages handles down

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May

Come Queen of months in company

Wi all thy merry minstrelsy
The restless cuckoo absent long
And twittering swallows chimney song
And hedgerow crickets notes that run
From every bank that fronts the sun
And swathy bees about the grass
That stops wi every bloom they pass
And every minute every hour
Keep teazing weeds that wear a flower
And toil and childhoods humming joys
For there is music in the noise

The first 12 lines from ‘May’ from ‘The Shepherd’s Calendar’.

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