Another tragic poem from Clare's 'Child Harold', written in the autumn of 1841 when Clare was back in Northborough and vainly seeking Mary Joyce. My Chapbook 'Child Harold' is the only published book with all of Clare's poems under that title. Nearly all written in the year of two asylums, 1841.
Song
I think of thee at early day
& wonder where my love can be
& when the evening shadows grey
O how I think of thee
Along the meadow banks I rove
& down the flaggy fen
& hope my first & early love
To meet thee once agen
I think of thee at dewy morn
& at the sunny noon
& walks with thee—now left forlorn
Beneath the silent moon
I think of thee I think of all
How blest we both have been—
The sun looks pale upon the wall
& autumn shuts the scene
I can't expect to meet thee now
The winter floods begin
The wind sighs through the naked bough
Sad as my heart within
I think of thee the seasons through
In spring when flowers I see
In winters lorn & naked view
I think of only thee
While life breaths on this earthly ball
What e'er my lot may be
Wether in freedom or in thrall
Mary I think of thee
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