Footpath winding

It runs & so it will run on
Through summers lasting day
The footpath winding all the way
We trace it near a mile
Through closes green & fallows grey
Oer many a gate & stile
Grass on each side & wild field flowers
& children running on
Crop many a one & think them fair
Till half the day is gone

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Huge elm

Huge elm with rifted trunk all notched & scarred

Like to a warriors destiny

I love To stretch me often on thy shadowed sward

& hear the laugh of summer leaves above

Or on thy buttressed roots to sit & lean

In careless attitude & there reflect

On times & deeds & darings that have been 

Old castaways now swallowed in neglect

While thou art towering in thy strength of heart

Stirring the soul to vain imaginings

In which lifes sordid being hath no part

The wind of that eternal ditty sings

Humming of future things that burn the mind

To leave some fragment of itself behind

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The prospect round

O who can tell the sweets of May-days morn
To waken rapture in a feeling mind
When the gilt East unveils her dappled dawn
& the gay wood-lark has its nest resigned
As slow the sun creeps up the hill behind
Moon reddening round & daylights spotless hue
As seemingly with rose & lily lined
While all the prospect round beams fair to view
Like a sweet Spring flower with its unsullied dew

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Green drapery & crispy curls

I loved & wooed them in the field like gems

Of two much value for the clown who sung

The azure bluebells in their sapphire stems

Among green bushes low their mute bells hung

These seemed loves modest maidens dew bestrung

With blebs o' mornings glittering pearls

I loved them in the vallys where I sung

With their green drapery & crispy curls

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A Spring shower

Black grows the southern sky betokening rain
& humming hive-bees homeward hurry bye
They feel the change so let us shun the grain
& take the broad road while our feet are dry
Ay there some dropples moistened on my face
& pattered on my hat--tis coming nigh
Lets look about & find a sheltering place
The little things around like you & I
Are hurrying through the grass to shun the shower
Here stoops an ash-tree--hark the wind gets high
But never mind this ivy for an hour
Rain as it may will keep us dryly here
That little wren knows well his sheltering bower
Nor leaves his dry house though we come so near

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An April daisy

Welcome old Maytey peeping once again

Our meeting minds me of a pleasent hour
Springs pencil pinks thy cheek that blushy stain
& Summer glistens in thy tinty flower

Hail Beautys gem disdaining time nor place
Carlessly creeping on the dunghills side
Demeanour softens in thy crimpled face
& Decks thee with a charm unknown to pride

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A little mouse

Nay dont be alarmed & start up from the hay 
Thats nought but a little mouse running away 
& now she finds out we're not foes to destroy 
Do but hear in the grass how she chitters for joy 
No doubt in the beans nigh at hand may sojourn 
Her childern awaiting her mothers return 
See there where the willow bends over the brook 
At our feet like an old shepherd over his crook 
Neath its boughs Gnats & midges are still at their play 
Like ball rooms of faireys all dancing away

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Farm Cat

Now the cat has ta'en her seat, 
With her tail curled round her feet; 
Patiently she sits to watch 
Sparrows fighting on the thatch. 
Now Doll brings the expected pails, 
And dogs begin to wag their tails; 
With strokes and pats they're welcomed in, 
And they with looking wants begin; 
Slove in the milk-pail brimming o'er, 
She pops their dish behind the door. 
Prone to mischief boys are met, 
Neath the eaves the ladder's set, 
Sly they climb in softest tread, 
To catch the sparrow on his bed; 
Massacred, O cruel pride! 
Dashed against the ladder's side. 
Curst barbarians! pass me by; 
Come not, Turks, my cottage nigh; 
Sure my sparrows are my own, 
Let ye then my birds alone

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Early nightingales

When first we hear the shy-come nightingales
They seem to mutter oer their songs in fear
And, climb we eer so soft the spinney rails
All stops as if no bird was anywhere
The kindled bushes with the young leaves thin
Let curious eyes to search a long way in
Until impatience cannot see or hear
The hidden music; gets but little way
Upon the path--when up the songs begin
Full loud a moment and then low again
But when a day or two confirms her stay
Boldly she sings and loud for half the day
And soon the village brings the woodman's tale
Of having heard the newcome nightingale

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Balm & Breezes

The Paigles Bloom In Showers In Grassy Close

How Sweet To Be Among Their Blossoms Led
& Hear Sweet Nature To Herself Discourse
While Pale The Moon Is Bering Over Head

& Hear The Grazeing Cattle Softly Tread

Cropping The Hedgerows Newly Leafing Thorn
Sounds Soft As Visions Murmured Oer In Bed
At Dusky Eve Or Sober Silent Morn
For Such Delights Twere Happy Man Was Born

Now Come The Balm & Breezes Of The Spring

Not With The Pleasures Of My Early Days
When Nature Seemed One Endless Song To Sing
A Joyous Melody & Happy Praise
Ah Would They Come Agen—But Life Betrays
Quicksands & Gulphs & Storms That Howl & Sting
All Quiet Into Madness & Delays
Care Hides The Sunshine With Its Raven Wing
& Hell Glooms Sadness Oer The Songs Of Spring

At this period in 1841 Clare capitalised every word in his manuscripts.  No one has yet come up with a convincing explanation as to why

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A flush of green

Though 'neath young Aprils watery sky
The sun gleam'd warm & roads were dry
& though the valleys bush & tree

Still naked stood yet on the lea 
A flush of green & fresh'ning glow
In melting patches 'gan to show 
That swelling buds would soon again 
In summers livery bless the plain
The thrushes too 'gan clear their throats
& got by heart some two'r three notes 
Of their intended summer song
To cheer me as I stroll'd along

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Behind the screen

Man is an insect life his cell
Nor lives he till death breaks the shell
He dreameth here & waketh there
So what forsooth hath life to heir? 
A painted nothing of the mind
Whose peace we hunt & never find
A fairy-tale of what hath been
Where all is heard & nothing seen
A mystic show which thoughts devise
A rumour clothed in prophecies
A dream unmarred a hope deferred
Here all is fancy nothing heard
Anon man peeps behind the screen
The spell is out the show is seen

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Love’s riddle

"Unriddle this riddle, my own Jenny love,
Unriddle this riddle for me,
And if ye unriddle the riddle aright,
A kiss your prize shall be,
And if ye riddle the riddle all wrong,
Ye're treble the debt to me:

I'll give thee an apple without any core;
I'll give thee a cherry where stones never be;
I'll give thee a palace, without any door,
And thou shalt unlock it without any key;
I'll give thee a fortune that kings cannot give,
Nor any one take from thee."

"How can there be apples without any core?
How can there be cherries where stones never be?
How can there be houses without any door?
Or doors I may open without any key?
How can'st thou give fortunes that kings cannot give,
When thou art no richer than me?"

"My head is the apple without any core;
In cherries in blossom no stones ever be;
My mind is love's palace without any door,
Which thou can'st unlock, love, without any key.
My heart is the wealth, love, that kings cannot give,
Nor any one take it from thee

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Loitering

& here the shepherd with his sheep
& with his lovley maid
Together where these waters creep
In loitering dalliance playd 

& here the Cow boy lovd to sit
& plate his rushy thongs
& dabble in the fancied pit
& chase the Minnow throwngs

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Infant April

The infant April joins the spring
& views its watery skye
As youngling linnet trys its wing
& fears at first to flye
With timid step she ventures on
& hardly dares to smile
The blossoms open one by one
& sunny hours beguile
But finer days approacheth yet
With scenes more sweet to charm
& suns arive that rise & set
Bright strangers to a storm
& as the birds with louder song
Each mornings glory cheers

With bolder step she speeds along
& looses all her fears

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The ploughman’s song

"My love is young & handsome 
As any in the town
Shes worth a ploughmans ransom 
In the drab cotton gown”
He sang & turned his furrow oer 
& urged his team along
While on the willow as before 
The old crow croaked his song
The ploughman sung his rustic lay 
& sung of Phoebe all the day

The crow he was in love no doubt 
& [so were] many things
The ploughman finished many a bout
& lustily he sings
"My love she is a milking maid 
With red rosy cheek
Of cotton drab her gown was made
I loved her many a week”
His milking maid the ploughman sung 
Till all the fields around him rung

 

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Green & Happy

The blossom burthened never weary May 
Again with natures folks keeps holiday
Trees hide themselves in green & happy birds 
Sing sweeter songs that can be breathed in words
The very winds sing sonnets to the sky
& sunshine bids them welcome so that I 
Feel a new being as from healthier climes
& shape my idle fancies into rhymes 
Of natures ecstasy in bursting flowers

& birds nest-building & sunshiny showers 
That on the south west wind in singing moods 

Sprinkle their drops like manna oer the woods, 
Where I still love my careless limbs to fling 
Among the shadows of young leafy spring

 

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